


Royal Society

by Snownut



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 28,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snownut/pseuds/Snownut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the fall of 1886, James Wilson was bound for London to begin his career as a physician. Until a chance encounter with a stranger changed the direction of his life forever. A House/Wilson friendship in Victorian England story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Oxford

October 1886

Though he was loathe to admit to such weakness, traveling by train always made him ill. Even as a child, he'd always feared the swaying, rolling motion would betray his traitorous stomach and reveal him for the weakling he was. His father, a strong, courageous merchant sailor had always berated him for his motion sickness every time they had left the safety of the shore. He'd suffered through countless family trips across the channel and back again; clinging to his mother as a young boy, and later to the railing when no-one else would come to his aid. The only solace he'd ever found had been in both soothing darkness and absolute silence; both of which looked to be precious commodities aboard the noon train. He resigned himself to his fate as he discovered the only open seat in sight was beside an elderly gentleman near the window. Reaching up, he removed his hat and smoothed his rebellious hair.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Sir, but I wondered if that seat was taken?"

Upon closer inspection, he found the gentleman in question was not elderly, but prematurely aged. His face was stubbled, his wiry hair was unkempt; as though he had not seen a barber in sometime. But despite his disheveled appearance, his clothes were well made and in excellent condition. He balanced a cane beneath the palm of his right hand, and met the younger man's eyes with his own.

"Not to my knowledge." The gentleman eased himself to his feet, resting heavily on his cane as the younger man slid into the seat hurriedly.

"Thank you, sir." He said breathlessly. The gentleman sank down in his seat once more. He used his hands to shift his right leg into a more comfortable position before straightening in his seat and resting the cane against his leg once more.

"I am unaccustomed to travel." The younger man blurted, and thus regained the attention of his seat-mate. "I regret that I do not have a strong constitution when it comes to traveling. I shall try to not inconvience you."

"As you can see," the gentleman said dryly, "I do not travel well either. But despite our poor constitution for travel, perhaps we shall find other things in common. My name is Gregory House." He offered a hand, and the younger gentleman took it warmly.

"I am James Wilson. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. What business do you have in London?"

"I am looking for work. And you, sir?"

"I am returning home."

Outside the dirty windows of the train, the station began to recede as the train began to pull away from the platform. Unable to stop himself, James turned to watch the gray of the train station give way to the countryside. Beside him, Mr. House leaned back in his seat and rested his head against the back.

"What work do you seek in London? Labourer? Farrier? I should think you unsuited for one and oddly dressed for the other." he said.

James laughed aloud. "I am a physician. I hope to find a fellowship. Or at the very least, I would settle for a position as an assistant. There are far too many young gentleman languishing in Oxford, waiting for patients of their own. I thought my chances might be better if I sought them out." He laughed then, smiling wistfully. "Although for this evening, my ambitions are much more mundane. Room and board. Have you any experience with either? Would you recommend a place?"

"I recall my first days in London, when I was a younger man." Mr. House fell silent for a moment, lost in some recollection before he shook his head and continued. "I stayed in Mrs. Fischer's boarding house near Hyde Park. She was a very good businesswoman, and I would imagine her to be in business yet."

"I shall inquire about her. Thank you." James smiled at his companion, and noticed he did not smile so readily in return. Mr. House closed his eyes as he tightened his grip about the handle of his cane. James studied him closely then, noting the way he breathed raggedly for a few moments before reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat and withdrawing a small flask. He unscrewed the cap with shaking fingers, and threw back several mouthfuls before putting the flask away. In embarrassment, James turned his attention to the window and surveyed the grassy hills intently despite the way the movement turned his stomach.

"My apologies." Mr. House said quietly, and James turned to find he had settled his head against the back of his seat. He looked very pale.

"Quite all right. Is there anything I could do for you?"

"No." Mr. House rasped. "It shall pass soon enough." He closed his eyes again, taking deep, slow breaths. James found himself breathing in time with his companion, and thus, soothing his nausea. Intent as he was upon his seat-mate, he found the noise and clatter of the train soon fell away. Mr. House's pain eased some time later, and by the slowing of his breath he'd slipped into sleep. James, too, rested his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes.

He woke some time later to find the rail car was almost silent. His traitorous stomach soothed, he was pleasantly surprised to find he felt extraordinarily well. Opening one eye, he lifted his head from the back of the seat to find many people were sleeping, or reading. The sun was setting, and James was grateful to see London on the horizon. Beside him, Mr. House was still sleeping. His countenance was peaceful, his leg pain had eased. Almost as though he'd overheard James' thought, Mr. House awoke with a start.

"Are you well?" James asked gently.

"Yes, thank you." Mr. House sat up slowly, easing his leg out from beneath him. He straightened the limb experimentally. "I hope I didn't disturb you."

"No, not at all." James fidgeted with the button of his coat for a moment before he stopped himself. "It would seem we are nearly to London."

"Yes. It will be good to be home." Mr. House admitted.

"How long have you called London home?" James asked.

Mr. House stretched out, looking far more comfortable than he had. "I was a young man when I moved to London, much to my father's dismay. But I knew best. I sought to make my own name while I was still a young officer."

"So you served in the army?"

"Yes, for a time. My career was not what my father had hoped; and while I regret the loss of use in my leg, I was not saddened when the injury I sustained ended my career." Mr. House pressed a hand to his leg, and rubbed it gently beneath the material of his trousers.

"So it was an injury you sustained in battle?" James blanched, realizing that his questions were far too intrusive for a gentleman he'd just met. "I beg your pardon—I don't mean—"

"It's quite all right." Mr. House gave him a ghost of a smile, his blue eyes lightening. "I welcome your questions. I weary of dancing around the elephant in the room, so to speak."

James nodded, uncertain what to say in response.

"I was a lieutenant during the Battle of Balaclava. My regiment was among those that charged down into the valley. We were cocksure and utterly fearless, for we had charged into many frays and always returned none the worse for wear. I—"Mr. House paused, and James feared for a moment that he would not be able to finish the tale. "We charged into the valley, and I saw many of my comrades fall around me. I do not think I felt fear until I felt my horse struck beneath me; when we two began to fall." Mr. House's eyes were shuttered, distant. James shivered at the intensity of those piercing blue eyes when he turned to face him intently. "I remember that we struck the ground, and I was pinned beneath my horse's weight. While I set about freeing myself, a shell struck very near us. If not for my horse shielding me from the worst of the explosion, it is likely I should not have survived. When I woke next, it was on the operating table." Mr. House shrugged guilelessly as he reached the end of his tale.

"It sounds terrible." James admitted, feeling his stomach turn.

"War is seldom as grand as men believe. When it is men on parade, with their starched uniforms and polished lances marching in time; the battlefield is nothing more than an illusion. Perhaps, in time, the illusion shall become reality."

The train began to slow, and James chanced another look out the window to find the pleasant countryside had long since given way to cobblestone streets and dreary buildings. The sun, too, had set some time earlier and James could see streets dimly through the fading light.

"When we finally disembark, it will be quite late. I believe you said you had not yet found accommodations." Mr. House said quietly. James turned to survey him in surprise.

"No, I have not." He said cautiously.

"If you like, you are welcome to a room in my house." Mr. House offered, and James felt his eyes widen in surprise.

"I am grateful, truly, but I couldn't possibly intrude—"

"It is no intrusion." Mr. House's eyes were warm. "I have a great many rooms, and letting one out to a promising young physician will certainly not cause me any distress."

"I—I would be honored." James said when he found his tongue again. "I must repay you in some way. Please, is there anything you have need of?"

"Perhaps I have need of a physician." Mr. House said cryptically.


	2. Chapter 2

James longed to question his host about his need for a physician, but could not bring himself to do so. Surely a gentleman such as Mr. House could afford to be seen by a physician privately? Still, he admitted to himself, it was a relief to know that he would not need to seek accommodations for the night.

Beside him, Mr. House readied himself to depart; donning his hat, straightening his coat as the train stopped beside the platform. All around them, passengers rose to their feet when the doors opened. James donned his hat and coat, and watched as his host bent his leg at the knee and rose awkwardly. Shifting his cane beneath him, he leaned heavily upon it as he made his way to the exit. James rose as well, standing to join him only to find his way blocked. He stepped well aside as several well dressed ladies brushed past him in the aisle. He nodded politely, gazing at the young ladies in frank admiration.

"Good evening." He greeted, touching the brim of his hat respectfully. Once they had left the train he resumed his path up the aisle and to the door, stepping out onto the platform hurriedly. Of his host, there was no immediate sign and James felt anxiety well within him. Casting about, James surveyed the station's spacious interior quickly, praying his host had not yet abandoned him. Feeling his spirits sink, he pondered the likelihood of making his way to a reputable boarding house at such a late hour. Resigned, he requested a porter to help him with his baggage before making his way to the great glass doors. Amidst the ever-present carriages and omnibuses he gestured impatiently at the nearest cab.

"Where to, sir?" a cockneyed voice asked, and James sighed heavily. "Have you any knowledge of boarding houses?"

"Yes sir, I know of some fine houses to recommend."

"I—"

"Have you elected to eschew my offer?" a voice asked quietly, and James jumped; surprised to find Mr. House standing beside him. Sharp grey eyes probed his, and James looked away in embarrassment.

"Forgive me, I meant no offense. I was detained, and had thought perhaps you had—"

"Departed? You think me a poor host?"

"Please, I meant no—"

"Or perhaps you were too enthralled by the ladies."

"Pardon?"

"I could see you admiring the ladies from outside the station. You have a fine eye." Mr. House complimented, and James finally fell silent, uncertain what rejoinder would satisfy his host. "Come, this way. My man will have us snug in my home within the hour!"

Mr. House was an enigma, that much was certain. James was stymied by the apparent contradiction within the image the man conjured. His grooming was haphazard, yet his clothes were well-fashioned. His luggage was worn and battered, but the brougham was handsomely maintained. Even the horses, though evenly matched in their paces and appearance bore nothing more than singletrees and plain ring snaffles. Mr. House's man was waiting for them at the far end of the platform; he'd nodded deferentially to James and had immediately taken his luggage while Mr. House had eased himself into the soft cushions of the brougham. He'd seemed relieved to be off his feet once more. James studied the city through the glass windows thoughtfully. He'd been to London once as a child, though not long enough for the city to affix itself to his memory. The streets were dimly lit, and James knew he should have been lost immediately upon setting out from the station; but Mr. House's driver knew his route. He drove them through quiet streets, past taverns and pubs to a sprawling, pristine neighbourhood. The brownstone he finally stopped before was neither large nor small; though it, too, was well kept. The windows glowed warmly, and as the driver alighted and opened the door; James realized with a start that he had not given his host's family a second thought.

"Surely your family will not mind an unexpected guest?" James asked aloud.

"I am yet a bachelor. My father says that I am a difficult man, and no woman will have me." Mr. House's breath came heavily as he struggled out of the brougham. His walk seemed heavier, and James could see in the way he staggered up the steps that the journey had taken its' toll upon him.

"Come in, come in. I would be a poor host to leave you out here in the cold." Unlocking his own door, Mr. House motioned for James to follow him while the driver busied himself with their baggage. The brownstone was warm and pleasant, and James hurried to divest himself of his greatcoat and hat, gloves and scarf. Mr. House did the same, and then gestured for his guest to follow him down a hallway to a well-appointed study. James studied the overfilled bookshelves in approval; had he time he would have perused each spine and learned the mind of his host. There was a fire in the hearth, and Gregory sank down in an overstuffed chair before the flames with a satisfied grunt.

"Sit, please. Make yourself at home." He leaned forward as James sat down and lifted a shaking hand to the full decanter of brandy to pour them each a glass. James took his gratefully and leaned back, feeling the soft plush ease the slight ache in his spine from the rigors of travel. How much more taxing was such a journey to a man with a grievously injured leg? Mr. House leaned back with his own glass and toasted his guest before throwing the glass back. The driver had dutifully carried their luggage inside, and now made an appearance in the doorway. He was an older man with a medium build and a shock of white hair.

"Mr. House, I was to tell you that supper was ready for you as soon as you should like it."

"Thank you, Henry. Would you tell Alice to set another place, and make up a room for our guest? I believe he shall be staying with us for a time."

Yes sir, I surely will." Henry bowed politely and left the doorway. James listened to his steps recede in the distance even as his host reluctantly regained both his feet and cane and led him down to the dining room. Two places had been set, as Mr. House had asked; and James followed his host's lead as he sat down at one.

"Alice!" he barked, and James blinked in surprise when a young woman emerged bearing two steaming bowls. On closer inspection, her lovely features were those of a younger woman, but her eyes were filled with a life longer lived. She was like her employer; not as young as she seemed; nor as old as he imagined she might be. An enigma. "Don't keep our guest waiting. This is Mr. Wilson."

"Supper will keep, Mr. House. For you and your guest." She set one bowl before him, and the other before James. "Every night he bellows for his soup. But he hasn't learned yet that I don't scare easy. His bark is worse than his bite." She confessed to James as she poured them each a mug of ale and bustled back and forth with a loaf of bread.

"I don't keep you in my employ to slander me before my guest." Mr. House said dryly, and James took up his mug to hide the smile tickling his lips.

"And I don't stay here for the conversation. Lord knows, I could have my fights with the mister and be a kept woman at home." She said crossly.

"Why do you stay, dear Alice?" Mr. House asked, but James could see his blue eyes were no longer so clouded with pain; instead, they were filled with delight.

"Someone has to make your soup!" Alice cried, and stormed back into the kitchen. Mr. House's smile lingered as he dug into his soup. James longed to return the conversation to the cryptic comment his host had made on the train, but he could see in Mr. House's eyes a weariness that had not completely abated even with his soup and ale. Instead, they discussed the weather, and the upcoming elections.

Alice bustled back and forth, clearing their plates almost before they had finished and had brought in a wonderful raisin pudding. When they had finally finished, Mr. House had made to rise from his seat and nearly fell. James caught his elbow in time to prevent him from a spectacular fall, and eased him to sit once more.

"Are you all right?" he asked quietly, and Mr. House nodded after a moment. His face was terribly pinched and pale.

"Yes. Alice." He croaked faintly. Shaking his head, he leaned back in his seat.

The housekeeper emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. "Shall I fetch Henry for you, Mr. House?"

"Yes. And if you'll see to our guest?" he asked quietly. Alice nodded, and when she had called for Henry she rejoined them at the table. "Come along, Mr. Wilson." She prodded, and James got to his feet slowly. He could see Henry slip into the room and help his host laboriously to his feet.

"Mr. Wilson?" Alice was waiting for him at the base of the stairs, one small hand resting on the railing. "Whereabouts you from?"

"Oxford. I've only just come to London this eve. Mr. House and I met on the train. He was kind enough to offer me a room." James followed her obediently up the staircase and down a dimly lit hall.

"Mr. House don't like for people to know, but he's got a soft spot for folks." She opened the door for him, and James was pleased to find Henry had already placed his trunk in the room. Alice disappeared down the hall while James unlocked his trunk and stripped himself of both jacket and vest. She returned with a pitcher full of water and a basin, along with clean towels. Setting them both on the bureau, she stirred up the fire in the hearth and busied herself with the bed linens while James eased himself out of his boots.

"Will Mr. House be all right?" he asked cautiously.

"Oh, yes, yes. Never trouble yourself about that. Traveling always takes it out of him. You'll see, he'll be right again come morning."

"He said he might be in need of a physician." James finally confessed, and he could feel Alice's piercing eyes fall on him. "That's why he offered me the room."

"Did he?" Alice asked enigmatically. "Perhaps he has need then."

"Does no one in this house answer questions when put to them?" James asked in exasperation. Alice winked at him, and smiled. "You'll learn, Mr. Wilson, that the only thing you've right to expect in this house is grief. Mr. House don't like for folks to pity him, and he don't want help if he don't need it."

"He asked for your help. He expected Henry to help him." James pointed out quietly.

"He don't want my help. But I needed a good job and he needs somebody to do his laundry and cook his meals. And Henry's been with him for a long time. Used to help him out when he was still teaching at the university, and when Mr. House finally got so he couldn't teach no more Henry said he'd stay with him long as he could help. Henry wanted to be a doctor. Mr. House says this is as close as he'll get."

"So he does mayhap need a physician? Even I could not be so lucky as to acquire a patient on the train!"

"Only Mr. House knows what Mr. House needs. But I'll wager he'll tell you all about it when he's ready. If there's anything you need, Mr. Wilson, Henry will be here to get it for you."

"Thank you, Alice." James watched as she let herself out and closed the door behind. He took up the pitcher and splashed water into the basin. Rolling back his sleeves, James wet a cloth and drew it over his face and along the back of his neck, wiping away the dirt of his journey. Swiping over his exposed forearms, he set the cloth aside and dried himself. He quickly stripped himself of his clothes and shivered as he pulled on his nightshirt. He pulled the bed curtains and dove into bed, pulling the covers up around himself and put his head to the pillow. In the space between one breath and the next, he fell asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Morning found him still abed long after sunrise. He started awake in confusion, staring into the sunbathed room as he struggled to remember where he was. The train. Mr. House. London. Sitting up slowly, he listened into the silence. He could hear the clatter of pots and pans from down in the kitchen, and Alice's sharp contralto scrabbling over Henry's low tones. From below, he could hear Alice fall silent, and Henry's footsteps on the stairs. Almost before he could think, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in." he called, and sat up enough to edge one side of the bedcurtain back. Henry opened the door while balancing a tea tray. He set the tray carefully on the table before the window.

"Good morning, Mr. Wilson." He greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did, thank you."

"Alice sent me up with a tray. Breakfast should be ready for you when you come down."

"I shall endeavor to be down shortly." James promised.

"No need to hurry, Mr. Wilson. Mr. House usually lies in for quite a while." Henry told him quietly.

"Is he well?"

"Mr. House is much the same most mornings." Henry confessed. "He says it is just as well that he does not need to work. He surely would suffer a great deal if he were a working man."

"Does he have need of a physician?" James asked, and watched Henry intently. His eyes flashed in warning, but James could not ascertain whether he was truly angry or merely defensive of his master.

"Only Mr. House knows what he needs." Henry repeated Alice's words from the night before. "If you'll excuse me, Mr. Wilson, I have things that need doing."

Henry left, quietly closing the door behind himself. Bestirring himself, James reluctantly left the warmth of his bed and dressed quickly in the morning chill. As he pulled his boots on and buttoned his collar he moved to the window and peered out into the street below. Autumn was upon them; frost rimmed the window and feathered the ground. James shivered again and reached automatically for the tea tray, poured a cup for himself and wrapped his hands around it. It was no wonder that Mr. House sought to remain abed until the house warmed, and the lingering chill from the night before was driven from the air. He sipped at his tea thoughtfully, watching several children chase each other down the street. Their laughter permeated the glass and warmed him nearly as much as the tea had. Finishing the last mouthful of his tea, James finished readying himself and smoothed his rebellious hair before making his way downstairs.

Alice had outdone herself, he could see. A hearty breakfast was being set upon the sideboard when he made his way downstairs.

"Good morning, Mr. Wilson." She called cheerfully, giving a slight curtsey.

"Good morning, Alice." He greeted.

"Tuck in, tuck in." she urged. "Mr. House will be down presently."

James sat down obediently and had no sooner filled his plate when his host made an appearance, limping slowly but steadily toward the table. He looked a great deal better than he had the day before.

"Good morning." James greeted. "Are you well?"

"Yes, thank you." Mr. House sat down across from him and began filling his own plate. "I hope you were comfortable."

"Very much so. I am grateful you asked me. I doubt I should have been so well looked after in a boarding house." James saluted his host with his cup of tea.

"Alice!" Mr. House bellowed crossly. The kitchen door swung open, and Alice emerged bearing another platter of sausage. "Good morning, Mr. House." She greeted.

Mr. House grunted in response as she settled three pieces onto his plate. "Has my morning correspondence arrived yet?"

"Sir William's boy brought it just past seven this morn." Mr. House opened his mouth to offer a rebuttal, but Alice glared at him squarely. "It'll keep until you finish your breakfast."

"You know I would prefer to see it immediately."

"I know you needed your rest. Sir William will keep his own counsel until you send word."

James saw his opening and took it cautiously; schooling his features to remain expressionless. "I don't wish to be a hindrance to your affairs. I had thought I might walk about the neighbourhood. The fresh air will do me some good."

Mr. House nodded then, and returned to his breakfast quietly. Alice set the platter down on the sideboard, and refilled their cups before retiring to the kitchen. She joined them again a moment later, and held out a leather satchel that Mr. House snatched eagerly. His breakfast abandoned, he dove into the satchel and removed a leather bound ledger along with a series of notes tied securely to its cover.

"Mr. House." Alice admonished. "You're neglecting your guest. Mr. House!" Alice shrilled, and James winced as Mr. House glanced up in irritation. "Sir William can wait. Your guest has need of you now." She reached for the ledger, but Mr. House clutched the bundle to his chest.

"As a physician, James can appreciate that the health of his patients' affairs is tantamount to his own. Some things," he said with a slight smile, "cannot wait."

"I quite understand." James said with a smile. "Although the world of business is quite foreign to me, much to my father's consternation." He rose, noting that his host's attention was once more riveted in his correspondence. Alice gave James a sympathetic look; she seemed accustomed to all of her employer's moods. Accustomed, but not yet indifferent to them.

"I have not walked the streets of London since I was a boy." He said quietly, seeking to fill the awkward silence. Scratching at the stubble on his chin, he smiled. "Perhaps I should seek the attention of a barber. Would you know of one I could prevail upon?" Alice nodded, and rose to her feet.

"There's a fine barber my husband recommends on Red Cross Street, about a half-mile from here. He's been good to my mister, even if Mr. House didn't think much of the recommendation." She smiled at him, and James smiled back despite himself. Mr House ignored them; engrossed as he was in his correspondence.

"I'll put your wraps on the grate, Mr Wilson. Shouldn't take more than a few minutes to warm them."

"Thank you, Alice."

She nodded as she crossed to the door and snatched gloves and scarf before bustling into the kitchen once more. James watched her silently before returning his attention to his host. Mr. House was rising to his feet, still clutching the ledger to his chest awkwardly. James held his breath as he stood, swaying slightly before limping toward his study.

"Alice!" he called sharply. "Did the boy wait for a reply?"

"No, Mr. House. I gave him leave, as I wasn't sure what time you'd awaken."

Mr. House sighed, and as James thought him about to give vent to his frustration as he reached up with a hand and stroked the scruff of his beard. "I have an urgent message for Sir William."

"Shall I have Henry ready your carriage for you?" Alice asked, wiping her hands on her apron.

"No." Mr. House shook his head, looking pained. "I've simply a message to pass along. Henry can carry a message as far as the Hospital."

"May I be of some assistance?" James asked. "I would be happy to deliver a message on my walk this morning."

Mr. House looked somewhat uncomfortable. James smiled as he rose to his feet. "Please. It is the least I can do to repay you for your hospitality. I will need some direction, if I am to find my way there and back."

"Thank you." Mr. House said quietly. "I will ready a response." Limping forward, Mr. House continued into the study and sank down behind his expansive desk.

"I shall give you directions, Mr. Wilson." Alice hurried back into the kitchen in search of a scrap of paper. Lingering for a moment longer, James rose to his feet and crossed to the mudroom to don his great coat and hat. He took a few moments and smoothed his hair once more; feeling uncommonly vain. Alice fluttered into the mudroom with his gloves and scarf, which he donned quickly to keep the warmth. She held out a note with her slanted handwriting and a skewed map of their tiny area in London.

"Here you are, Mr. Wilson." She held it up and pointed to a tiny dot she'd centered on the page. "We're right here. This here street is King Street. Unfortunately the Hospital and the barber are in opposite directions." She looked up at him apologetically.

"Quite all right." James told her. "After a long day aboard the train my legs shall be grateful for a good stretch."

"I know Mr. House is grateful." Alice smiled again. "And Henry is thankful as well. You've spared his old legs a few extra miles." She went on pointing out her directions, and James nodded his comprehension when she'd finished. From down the hall, James could make out Mr. House's cane tapping on the hardwood floor. He emerged bearing the ledger he'd been sent, and offered it to James wordlessly.

"I trust Alice has given you directions?" he asked.

"Yes. I shall endeavor to deliver the message first. To whom should I—"

"Sir William Gull. You can inquire about him at the main desk. Should he have a response, would you mind bearing it to me swiftly?"

Mr. House looked extremely discomfited; and James nodded his agreement, anxious to put the mind of his host at ease. "T'would mean a great deal to me."

"Not at all. As I said before, it is the least I can do for the generosity you have shown me." Mr. House relinquished his ledger, and James tucked it in the crook of his elbow. Nodding, James took his leave and stepped out into the brisk morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Mr. House's neighbourhood was large and spacious. The brownstones were neither new nor old; yet comfortable. Small gardens and fenced-in yards were filled with flower-boxes and trellis vines that climbed forever upward. He could smell the scent of the city beneath the damp, earthy smell of gardens and breathed deeply; knowing full well that the scent of growing things would soon be lost to the frost. Tipping his hat politely to several young ladies stepping into a coach, he lifted Alice's scrap of paper and re-examined his directions. To the left, he decided as he reached the end of the sidewalk. Looking first right, and then left, he stepped off the sidewalk and moved confidently forward. Walking at a leisurely pace, he found he arrived at his destination after only twenty-five minutes. Guy's Hospital, the sign proclaimed, and James found his interest in Mr. House re-awakening. He'd known his errand would take him to a hospital, but had given the content of his message little consideration. Was Mr. House a physician himself? James was unable to consider any other reason why his host would need to send word urgently to a gentleman at a hospital. Unless it pertained to his own health? James shook his head as he pondered the situation. Mr. House seemed far less troubled than he had been the evening before. No, it was not a message regarding himself. He longed to peek at the message, and ascertain his host's intent but stayed his hand. It would not do to involve himself in the affairs of any man, least of all such a generous host. More than likely, he consoled himself, if he paid close attention he would learn what he wanted to know.

The glass doors of the hospital allowed him to peer inside as he approached. He spied a harried looking young woman making her way to the door with a baby in her arms. He grasped the handle and held the door open, nodding respectfully as she carried the wailing infant outdoors. Judging by the expressions of the patrons in the room, the infant had been crying lustily for some time. He removed his hat, and self-consciously smoothed his hair before attracting the attention of a young man at the desk.

"May I inquire as to the whereabouts of Sir William Gull? I've a message for him from Mr. Gregory House." The young man started, and James found himself transfixed by the man's reaction. Who was Mr. House, that the mere mention of his name should evoke such a reaction?

"Certainly, sir." He recovered quickly. "You'll find Sir William up in the children's ward on the third floor. He's been anxiously awaiting Mr. House's recommendation."

James cursed his leisurely walk to the hospital, but there was no help for it. He followed the younger man's directions and took the stairs, moving steadily up to the third floor. He found the children's ward easily enough, and presented himself to the desk on the floor quickly. Repeating his message to a pretty young nurse, he watched her bustle out of the room. He scarcely had time to blink before an older gentleman emerged, greeting him with a firm handshake and a warm welcome.

"Thank you, young man. It's not often that Mr. House is away, but I find I've more need of his advice on those very days!"

"You're welcome, sir." James inclined his head respectfully. "I made Mr. House's acquaintance upon the train from Oxford. He offered me a room, and I am in his debt. It was the least I could do to take a message for him."

"He's a very generous man. A very generous man." Sir William gestured for James to join him. "You of course have guessed that I am William Gull. Might I have your name?"

"I apologize!" James felt colour flush his cheeks in embarrassment. "My name is James Wilson."

"And, Mr. Wilson, you say you met Mr. House upon the train from Oxford?"

"Yes, sir."

"'Twas a favor he did for you, I should say."

"I quite agree. I had not given my accommodations any thought at all. I suppose I was quite foolish."

Sir William opened the ledger as they walked and removed a folded note that he opened and read thoughtfully. Gesturing to a boy, he thrust the paper into his hands and sent him on his way.

"Bring that to room six. I believe Mr. House's instructions have come just in time." To James, he continued as though he had not given Mr House's message another thought. "Forgive an old man's intrusion into your affairs. I am fascinated by Mr. House, and I enjoy tales of his deeds."

"Quite all right." James nodded agreeably as they walked a little further and came upon a comfortable sitting room. The sunlight burned brightly through the windows and warmed the room.

"I meant what I said. Mr. House is a very generous man. But he rarely is generous without reason." Sir William sat down and James joined him, feeling terribly confused. "Did he give you a reason for offering you a room to let?"

"I…" James blinked in surprise, studying the older man intensely. "He said he might have need of a physician. His answer made little sense to me at the time." He admitted. "Although I cannot see why he would have need of my services, if he is a friend of yours. Surely he would consult a man with greater experience than one who had only recently graduated!"

"So you are a physician?" William Gull stared at him piercingly.

"Yes, of course."

"And you are come to London for what purpose?"

"I had come with hopes of establishing a practice of my own. 'Tis hard to find patients where there are no people."

Sir William laughed, and James felt the odd tension of the moment dissipate. "You are correct, Mr. Wilson. I apologize for interrogating you. It is often difficult to find Mr. House's opinion on matters; but I knew if I beat the bush on this side the birds should fly out."

"I admit I am very confused, sir.

"I expect that Mr. House has not confided his reasoning in you."

"Regretfully, no." James admitted. He felt his embarrassment recede once more as Sir William leaned back comfortably. James leaned back as well, mirroring him.

"Mr. House is a brilliant physician, as you might well have guessed by now. He is…hampered by his injuries and it is very difficult for him to negotiate the stairs and to undertake the examination of patients. Of course, I, selfishly, do not wish to lose his knowledge nor his friendship. I suggested to him that he might seek out a younger man to take under his wing and thus allow him to continue practicing."

James felt dumbfounded, but Sir William continued. "I expect you don't know that Mr. House was once a professor at Oxford?"

"No, sir, I hadn't known."

"A colleague suggested he might make a journey to Oxford, and meet candidates. I expect he did not find anyone to meet his needs. Until he met you on the train." He concluded kindly.

"Why me?" James asked quietly. "Mr. House could not have known anything about me. He could not have even guessed my purpose for being on the train!"

"He has a fine eye." Sir William shrugged. "Otherwise, I cannot presume to know why Mr. House chose you." He leaned forward, rising stiffly. "Perhaps it was coincidence. Or fate." Sir William winked at him then, and James felt his unease fade away.

"Thank you, Sir, for easing my conscience." James rose, and held a hand out. Sir William shook it warmly, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I will say, young Mr. Wilson, that if you would consent to carrying a note back to Mr. House, you would go a long way in easing his conscience."

"I would be happy to bring a message back." James agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

Sir William led him back down the hall toward his patient's room, and James took the opportunity to study the ward. He was pleased to find that the hospital was designed for the comfort of patients. Aside from the small arboretum there was a large, pleasant room for children to play in. There were a few tiny children sitting with their mothers, and several older boys and girls engaged in play. The small hospital in Oxford, while practical for learning was hardly conducive to the long term care of patients.

"Ahh, here we are young James." Sir William paused before a doorway and waited patiently for James to join him. He pushed the door open, and guided James into a bright, airy room.

"James, I wish you to meet our young patient, Colin."

A little boy was lying abed, but smiled pleasantly at James. His sickly pallor was accentuated by the white bed linens, and from what James could see he was little more than skin and bone.

"Colin, this is Mr. Wilson."

"Very nice to meet you, Mr. Wilson." Colin said quietly.

"Likewise, Colin." James said evenly.

"Are you a doctor?" Colin asked.

James nodded, but it was Sir William who answered. "Mr. Wilson is a friend of Mr. House's."

"Will I see Mr. House today?" Colin asked expectantly. "It has been some time since I saw him last."

"Perhaps, my boy. Perhaps. You know that it pains Mr. House to take the stairs. And he's only just returned from a trip to Oxford. Mayhap Mr. House will chance a visit later this week." Colin nodded sadly.

A flurry of movement in the doorway drew James' attention, and he found three young nurses entering the room quietly. One bore a box with a crank set into the side and another bore a bowl filled with pungent herbs. One carried three fluffy pillows and eased Colin into a sitting position before piling the pillows behind him.

"There you are, young Master Colin." She told him brightly. The boy nodded listlessly.

"I would like to play chess with him again." Colin said. He trained his gaze on James intently. "Will you tell him that for me?"

"Of course." James agreed. "I will pass the message along this afternoon."

"Now, then, Colin." Sir William rolled his sleeves up as one of the nurses set the box down and gave a set of paddles into his hands. "Shall we give Mr. House's recommendation a try?"

"Yes." Colin agreed.

"As you can see, James, Colin is a very ill little boy." Sir William pressed the paddles to Colin's legs and buckled them in place. "He was a premature baby and was very prone to colicks and malaise. He's been abed his whole life."

"Truly?" James asked, unable to fathom living such a life.

"Truly." Colin said faintly.

"Colin was brought to our hospital after he began suffering fevers more frequently. He had an excellent nurse at his father's estate, but even her treatments did nothing to abate the fever. His symptoms began progressing; he began to suffer pains in his knees and elbows. That is when Colin came under my care. We bled him, in hopes that the illness could be removed with the blood. I noticed that his blood was discoloured and viscous. Of course, I knew straight away it was the sort of illness that intrigues Mr. House." Sir William winked conspiratorially.

"Mr. House came to see me, and he told me that he thought he could make me better." Colin told James earnestly. He gasped suddenly, and James jumped in surprise as Sir William chuckled. Beside the bed, one of the nurses was cranking the handle on the machine.

"Does that pain you, Colin?"

"No, sir." Colin winced as his legs jumped again, and smiled shyly. "It tickles. It's moving my legs."

"As it should." Sir William smiled. "Mr. House writes in his recommendation that he'd like you to walk. He believes it will help keep your blood circulating properly. He thought we should stimulate your legs first, to make sure that they will carry you."

"Walk?" Colin echoed, looking torn. James sympathized. The poor child had undoubtedly given up hoping to walk after ten years abed.

"If I may ask, Sir William, what did Mr. House do for his discoloured blood?"

"Mr. House suspected that blood so discoloured was a sign of infection. He supposed it would cause the blood to flow poorly, and cause pain in the joints. I must admit—I was very nervous about his proposal—but he was correct. Mr. House believed it couldn't be cleaned properly because Colin's body lacks the ability to do so. He believed if we ran his blood through someone else, we would be able to clean it and return it to him, where it would do it's job properly once more."

"How-how did Mr. House propose cleaning it?"

Sir William smiled, and turned his attention back to Colin. "We ran Colin's blood through a pig."

"A pig?" James repeated quietly.

"Yes." Colin was smiling widely, and James smiled back. "A large pig. I've named him Orson."

"How long did it take?" James asked.

"Over two days. Mr. House believed we would know it was clean when Colin no longer felt pain in his extremities."

"And Colin suffered no ill effects?" James felt his head spin; Mr. House had taken a great risk with his choice in treatment.

"None at all. His fever began to subside within hours, and two days later Colin reported feeling no pain in his joints."

"Incredible." James murmured. Sir William adjusted the paddles, and motioned for the nurse to turn the handle once more. He moved the paddles up and down Colin's legs, and stimulated his legs repeatedly. At last, Sir William seemed pleased with his progress and set the paddles aside.

"That should do it, I believe. Now Mr. House suggests we poultice your legs to-nite, and then we shall see what tomorrow brings."

Colin nodded, looking tired once more. He lay back as one of the nurses removed the extra pillows and focused sleepy brown eyes upon James. "You'll ask Mr. House about chess?"

"I will." James promised. "The very instant I see him."

"Thank you." Colin murmured.

Sir William gestured to him from the doorway, and James followed him quietly once more to a desk at the front of the ward. He made a notation in Mr. House's ledger, and held it out to James calmly.

"Mr. House will be pleased by Colin's progress. I've written to inform him that the stimulus of his legs was successful, and that Colin will be taken down to the gardens in the morning. Even if he does not walk right away, the fresh air will be good for him." Sir William appraised him carefully.

"I will inform him." James promised.

"Will you give thought to assisting him?"

"I admit, I would feel better if Mr. House would speak to me directly on the matter." James admitted; giving voice to the frustration he'd felt since Sir William had first told him.

"Such is not Mr. House's way."

"Perhaps." James felt troubled, and Sir William nodded.

"Give Mr. House my best." Sir William turned away then, making his way toward his offices.

"I will, sir." James called. He tucked the ledger beneath his arm, and with one last look about the ward he headed down the stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

James breathed deeply when he stepped outside; letting the autumn air soothe his frayed nerves. He donned his hat once more, and shrugged into his coat before sliding the ledger into one pocket. He had not anticipated such a turn of events, and he found himself momentarily lost in the thoughts that ran ceaselessly through his mind. Shaking himself, he put his hands into his pockets and made his way for the corner. Walking determinedly, he found the walk back to Mr. House's shorter than his journey to the hospital. He noted street signs and various shops that he had seen before; indeed, he recognized one street vendor selling his wares had switched from one side of the street to the other in hopes of garnering more customers.

The bright, warm sunlight of the morning had quickly given way to increasing clouds. James found himself glancing skyward every so often to make certain that he wasn't about to receive a good soaking.

Mr. House's flat was as he had left it, with smoke curling from the chimney and the windows thrown wide to the outdoors. Pausing before the door, he was struck by uncertainty. Should he knock, or enter unasked?

Thankfully, before he could dwell on it overlong the door was flung open and Alice greeted him cheerfully.

"Mr. Wilson! Mr. House will be so pleased to see you've returned." He stepped inside, and Alice bustled with his coat and hat. Conscious of his dirty boots, James thought for a moment on removing them. "Mr. Wilson," she tsked; "don't trouble yourself. These floors already need a good scrub." she led him down the hall, her skirts swaying wildly. "Though they're not like to see one today."

"Why is that, dear Alice?" James found himself lost in her endless energy. If she made a reply, he could not hear her. He trailed listlessly behind, too absorbed in his thoughts to notice that she had paused before the door of the study and was conferring quietly with Henry. The older man shook his head once, looking grim. Alice, too, had grown more solemn.

"Is something amiss?" he asked sharply. "Is all well with Mr. House?"

"Mr. House is asleep. His pain must have been creeping up. It's usually best to leave him to wake of his own accord." Alice said calmly.

"He asked me to make a report to him upon my return. Surely he would not object to being awakened now!" James felt inexplicably angry. Feeling himself flush with anger, he nervously ran a hand through his hair as he attempted to calm himself. If Mr. House was not feeling well, he was not feeling well. And if the situation were as Sir William described, how could James turn the poor man down?

Henry stepped forward then, and held a hand out for the ledger.

"If you like, Mr. Wilson, I would be happy to pass the ledger along to Mr. House when he awakes."

James felt the weight of the ledger in his hands; the leather bound cover was warm where he gripped it firmly. It was almost comforting, after the tumultuous events of the morning.

"No. I should like to speak with Mr. House about the events that occurred myself." James made to open the door, only to find Henry's hand upon his arm.

"I apologize, Mr. Wilson." He said quietly. "I can't allow you to disturb Mr. House."

"How about a cup of tea, Mr. Wilson?" Alice asked beseechingly. "A nice cup to warm you after your walk. Mr. House will awake in a while, and you can speak with him then." Henry stared at him impassively, unmoved by James' intent. His duty was to his master's needs, as was Alice's, though she made her declaration with far more subtlety than Henry seemed capable of. James found his anger abated by degrees; bemused by the loyalty they held for him. James nodded woodenly after a few tense moments, and Alice touched his arm. She met his gaze with a piercing one of her own; studying him intently. Motioning with her chin, she indicated a chair before the fireplace in the common room before bustling to and fro from window to window, cranking them closed.

"A rainy day is often the best time to catch up on a bit of reading." She said quietly. James started, he'd not noticed the threatening rain had arrived and was beating steadily down the windows as Alice drew them closed. He nodded, and settled himself into the chair, staring into the flames distantly. When Alice returned some time later with a cup of tea, she set it on the table beside him and left wordlessly. Sinking down in the velvety fabric James drew the ledger out and set it in his lap. He gingerly picked up the china cup and sipped at the tea. Instead of the bitter Earl Grey he'd expected, he was pleasantly surprised to find a sweetened blend of some kind of berries. The tea was so like Mr. House—sweet when he expected bitter; wealthy when he seemed poor; kind when he appeared gruff. Contemplating the ledger, he set the cup back on its saucer and picked it up. The rain brought out the good smell of the leather, and James smiled as he opened to the first pages.

"…presented with premature labour…"

"…presented with pain in his extremities…"

"…presented with bouts of paranoia and behaved as though utterly mad…"

Each entry was thoroughly researched and well documented. James read through each case slowly; surprised to find that all of Mr. House's cases had presented in unusual ways. Most, too, he noted silently; were well known individuals who sought his counsel discreetly. He had discovered the earliest notes regarding Colin's diagnosis and care, and deeply immersed himself in the surgeon's notes, fascinated by the unusual treatment Mr. House had prescribed.

"I'm flattered. I had no idea my notes would so engross you." Mr. House stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane. James flushed guiltily, startled by Mr. House's sudden appearance and the realization that time had slipped away from him. The day was spent, if the darkening sky could be trusted.

"I apologize—" James stuttered. The ledger was heavy in his hands, and James gripped the pages more tightly as his palms slicked with sweat. Mr. House held a hand up, and James fell silent. "No need to apologize. I had hoped you would read it." Limping across the floor, Mr. House sank down in the armchair opposite him. "Did you meet Sir William?" he asked, half anxiously. He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

"Yes, yes. I met young Colin as well."

"Was the treatment effective?" Gregory asked, leaning forward and resting his chin on his cane.

"It certainly seemed to be." James shook his head; he'd nearly forgotten his promise to the boy. "Colin inquired after you. He requested your presence for a game of chess."

"The boy is a fine chess player." Mr. House mused. His blue eyes lit upon the ledger and James slid it over to him. With a firm hand, Mr. House picked it up and read silently through the pages that pertained to Colin.

"His legs responded to the stimuli. Hopefully Colin will find relief from the poultice as well."

"Surely it's not too soon for the boy to walk? He's been bed bound for the whole of his life."

"Colin needs to move about. Take in fresh air, exert himself as best he can. There's no reason the boy can't walk."

"He never has." James said quietly.

"No reason why he shouldn't."

James mused on that while his host regained his feet. The boy trusted him implicitly. He was a cautious child, weary of the world of medicine; James knew without asking that Colin's trust was among the most treasured of Mr. House's possessions. Had Mr. House felt any reservation about allowing the boy to walk, James knew he would never have made the suggestion within his hearing.

Mr. House leaned heavily upon his cane, rubbing his forehead. Pain was etched in the lines of his body; and James knew instinctively that the man before him would be better tucked into bed.

"I expect that Sir William divined my reasons for bringing you here."

"Was he right?" James asked quietly.

"He was, yes. I am in need of a physician's assistance." Mr. House said once more, and James felt his anger flare.

"Not for yourself."

"Not directly, no." Mr. House admitted.

"Could you not have asked?" he asked in exasperation.

"Would you have believed a gentleman aboard the noon train from Oxford was enquiring about your credentials to offer you employment based on little more than a chance meeting?" Mr. House countered, and James felt the last of his anger dissipate. Put that way, his actions certainly seemed justified. And he had done James a great kindness by offering him a room on such short notice regardless of his reason for doing so. Sagging against his cane, Mr. House shook his head.

"Forgive me. I should have found a way to express my interest. I expect you'll now seek your rooms elsewhere. Should you choose to remain, you need not trouble yourself further on my behalf. The choice, of course, is yours." He left then, limping steadily down the hall to the study once more. When the door closed softly, James was left sitting before the fire with nothing more than a leather bound ledger filled with patient histories and a half empty cup of tea; quite cool.


	7. Chapter 7

Supper was quiet. Alice had fetched him for evening meal at half-past five, leading him to the dining-room in silence. Only the rain-noise permeated the house; tittle-tattling on the eavestrough, rushing down the drain-spout, then deadening itself in the earth. Words were lost in the din of it, and minds went burrowing down into tunnels like moles. It had only grown steadier with the encroaching evening, and James could only glimpse the outdoors through the ghostly light of the gas-lamps along the street. Only one place was set upon the table, and Alice left him to settle in whist she ladled soup into a tureen and brought it to him. There was lentil soup, and fresh baked bread, a leg of beef and boiled, mashed potatoes aplenty; the meal was excellent, though he felt the lack of companionship keenly. He found he missed Mr. House's warm banter and Alice's delightful rejoinders. The house was cold and silent; he shivered, though he felt quite warm. Alice had bustled back and forth, bringing him more ale when his mug emptied and an extra helping of potatoes. She was an excellent hostess in the absence of her master. Of Henry and Mr. House—there was no sign.

"Have you need of anything else, Mr. Wilson?" Alice asked finally, and James shook his head as Alice made to clear his place.

"No, thank you, dear Alice."

She nodded crisply, and James sighed. "Please, forgive me. I meant no offence to Mr. House."

Alice nodded, still averting her eyes and James put a hand tentatively on hers. Her eyes flew to meet his in surprise. "Please." He repeated, noting the unexpected smoothness of her hand beneath his, the way her breast heaved in breath before blowing it out, in exaggeration.

"You needn't apologize, Mr. Wilson."

"I have offended your master, and thus made it more troublesome for you. I do apologize. I shall be gone on the morrow—"

"No!" Alice cried.

"I beg your pardon?" James asked.

Alice coloured, and James blinked unexpectedly. "I am sorry, Mr. Wilson." She apologized. "I speak out of turn, but some things has got to be said! Mr. House likes to bluster, but I knew when he took you in that he meant to do well by you. He's not a man to share his feelings, but he's bound to them more than most. I've not seen him in such pain for a long time. It usually creeps up when he feels strongly bout something, and that don't happen often these days. He tries so hard to feel nothing at all. He needs your help, Mr. Wilson—if you could find it in your heart to stay." She said everything in one breath, and shied away from his touch. Hurriedly gathering his dishes, she retreated to the kitchen and left James sitting alone once more in the dark.

He had sat alone for only a short time before realizing that Alice did not intend to return. Whether embarrassed by her outburst, or absorbed in her work, there was no sound, no sign of life stirring within the brownstone. His eyes long accustomed to the dim light, he rose to his feet and made his way steadily to the common room once more. The fire had died, though the embers remained, glowing faintly beneath the thickening pile of ash. He cast about, squinting into the darkness for a source of fuel. He cast about, squinting into the darkness for a woodbox, or a coal bucket. He found one by the door, and crossed to it, gathering a few pieces into his hands and carrying them to the fire. Fingers itching, he withstood the desire to wipe his hands upon his trousers as he had been prone to do as a boy.

Taking up the poker, he stirred the embers until they sparked the coal, bringing the fire to life. It crackled, sparks shooting up into the chimney and he shifted uncomfortably away. Even as a child, he'd harbored a fear of the flames. Perhaps that was why he had shied away from Mr. House, he reasoned. The man burned as brightly as a bonfire; putting out an intense heat and light that burned away all impurities. It was the reason the boy, Colin, was drawn to him. Children had an affinity for warmth and light. James smiled for a moment, remembering the delight in Colin's eyes; his pleading expression when he'd inquired after Mr. House. His smile dimmed; seeing Alice's pleading expression and hearing her words play through his mind. In the dark, he could make out the firelight playing upon the glossy pages of the ledger; teasing him with ailments just beyond his ability to understand. He knew he was wanting in experience, and perhaps, just perhaps, he could study with Mr. House and learn his ways. What harm could it do, he wondered. He had no wife, nor a family to provide for; and Mr. House had opened his home and his practice to a young physician with neither knowledge of his curriculum vitae or his temperament without hesitation. Surely James could find it within himself to repay his host's kindness by assisting him with his practice, if only for a time. Rising from his knees, he strode determinedly to the table and picked the ledger up, closing it reverently. With the ledger clutched in his hands, he drifted through the hall to the stairs. He took them cautiously, one at a time, not completely able to anticipate their height nor breadth in the dark. At the top of the staircase, he turned to the left, his feet taking him to the end of the hall. He paused then, breathing quietly, listening for any sound beyond the heavy oak door. With trembling fingers, he grasped the knob and swung the door open slowly. His eyes adjusted slowly from the inky blackness of the hall to the dim light of a single candle on a bedside table, and a banked fire in the hearth. The room was well appointed, a large, spacious sleigh bed was centered on one wall, and a wardrobe opposite it. A low bureau was situated beneath the window. The bed curtains were drawn tight, and James felt disappointment well within him. He had not considered that Mr. House might have been asleep. He realized with a start that he hadn't even thought of his host's condition in some time. He stepped forward quietly, taking great care to not wake Mr. House as he lay the ledger on the bedside table. He could not resist peering between the curtains, but there was no movement nor sound from within. Turning to leave, he was only two steps away from the door when Mr. House's sleep-laden voice called to him;

"You needn't leave."

James turned, guiltily. Had he only thought to remove his boots! "I apologize, Mr. House. I didn't mean to wake you. I meant only to leave you the ledger."

"You didn't wake me." Mr. House pushed the curtains aside, and James felt surprised at how terrible his host looked. Pale, wan; his face was tight with discomfort and he grunted faintly as he shifted in the bed.

"Are you well?" James asked quietly. Mr. House started to shake his head; but a surge of pain made him cry out suddenly. He rolled to his side and curled into a ball. With a shaking hand, he pointed to a vial on the bedside table.

"Please—" he pleaded, and James felt the remnants of his ire slip away. He grasped the vial and unscrewed it, put his hand beneath Mr. House's head to help him sip it when he shook his head adamantly.

"No." he rasped. "On the cloth. It is a…topical ointment."

James' fingers found the cloth on the table and wet it liberally before reaching to push the bedclothes down and pulled the edge of his nightshirt up. Mr. House's hand was clamped over the tattered flesh of his thigh. James lay a hand on his gently, and Mr. House grudgingly relinquished his grip; allowing James to press the cloth against his leg. James examined it clinically, surmising where the surgeons had re-sewn the torn flesh. Such a grievous, ugly wound. James ran the cloth liberally over the ruined muscle, re-wet it, and did so again. Inch by inch, Mr. House relaxed.

"What ointment is this?"

"Tincture of opium." Mr. House was nearly limp on the mattress when James withdrew the cloth, tucking the covers back up about him gently. His blue eyes were closing; surely he would sleep soundly for the remainder of the night.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. House?" James asked.

"Stay." Mr. House murmured.

"How could I not?" James whispered, smiling. "How could I not?

End part I.

AN: "..tittle-tattling on the eavestrough, rushing down the drain-spout, then deadening itself in the earth. Words were lost in the din of it, and minds went burrowing down into tunnels like moles."

Borrowed from one of my favorite authors as a child, Marguerite Henry; Born to Trot.


	8. Chapter 8

December 1887

He had grown accustomed to the long days and nights he spent at the hospital. Such was the nature of his work, even if it were not something he particularly enjoyed. Writing up the last of the orders, James sighed with relief as he turned away from the floor's main desk. He paused on his way to the stairs to take one last glance in their patient's room; the gentleman they had been treating for a fortnight was resting comfortably. Mr. House had been right once more in his supposition that the inflamed foot might heal faster if they placed maggots upon the decaying flesh. While the gentleman had expressed misgivings about Mr. House's recommendation initially; he had given his grudging permission the day before. Reaching the stairs, James pressed a hand against the banister and eased himself down the steps. He was yet a young man, though he felt all of his twenty-nine years weigh upon him heavily. Descending the stairs one at a time, he felt the jar of each step travel up his legs and nearly groaned in relief when he reached the main floor. Some days, it was difficult to remember that Mr. House was often at the mercy of his disability. On other days, when James felt the weariness within his own body he sympathized a good deal more than Mr. House knew. Stepping up to the main desk, James sighed.

"Has a message come from Mr. House?" he dreaded the answer. He had been roused from his bed in the night by one of Sir William's boys bearing a message about a patient. Then Mr. House had requested he remain with the gentleman on the second floor to monitor his condition. He longed to return home; to sit beside the fire with a finger or two of brandy and huddle beneath a thick blanket. He feared further instructions from Mr House might have him remain throughout the night.

"I've not found a message for you, Mr. Wilson. Only a note saying your coach should return close to six o'clock."

"Very good." James rubbed his hands together, and drew his pocket-watch out of his vest. Nearly six already! He gestured to the clerk once more, and the boy scampered away to gather his coat eagerly.

"Mister Wilson?"

James turned to find a young lady walking toward him with a frown upon her face. He smiled, admiring her lovely features and bright brown eyes. She did not appear sullen, merely worried, and James felt anxious to ease her fears.

"Yes? May I help you?" he inquired, bowing gently. He took her hand and kissed it lightly. She

"My name is Emma. I had hoped to speak with you about my father."

"Of course." James nodded to the boy, who set his things upon the shelf. He stepped away from the desk, gesturing for her to follow.

"Mr. House's recommendation was to allow for an—unorthodox—treatment of his foot. Much of the skin upon it was decayed, and Mr House thought that by removing the dying flesh we might salvage what remained."

"So he does yet have his foot." She asked, bringing a hand to her mouth. Tears filled her eyes unexpectedly.

"Yes, yes, of course." he soothed. "Mr. House's recommendation allowed him to keep his foot. Mr. House will undoubtedly wish to see how his pain responds now before deciding the next course of his treatment."

"Of course. Thank you, Mr .Wilson."

"Please, call me James." He urged, and she gave him a shy smile.

"Yes, of course. James. My mother and I are extremely grateful, to you and Mr. House." She held a hand out once more, and James kissed it gently, with a small bow. Giving him a sultry, yet shy, smile she withdrew her hand and sidled away; hips swaying. James felt himself unexpectledly aroused and turned away, feeling anxious. Striding quickly to the desk he gathered his coat and hat, gloves and scarf and donned them quickly. He spoke to the clerk briefly, reminding him to send a message 'round should any of the patients' condition change and then left. He hurried out into the cold as the tower at Westminster struck the hour.

It had not been as cold when he had departed earlier that morning. The temperatures had undoubtedly fallen throughout the day, he decided, given the way the radiators had put out heat like a blast furnace by late evening. Looking back, he could dimly recall feeling fevered several times during the course of the day, but had put it down to rushing up and down the stairs to check on patients. Now, though, he wondered if he had perhaps caught a touch of something. Descending the stairs cautiously, he waved to the brougham parked on the eastern drive eagerly and pulled his great coat about himself. The whip cracked, and the horses moved forward. Their breath steamed in the air, and James felt oddly relieved when Henry stopped beside the steps.

"Good evening, Mr. Wilson." He greeted.

"Good evening Henry. I do hope you weren't waiting long."

"No, sir. I've only just arrived."

"Wonderful." James took the door's handle and let himself in, settling into the leather seats gratefully. He was surprised to find Henry had thought to warm the blankets for him, and settled beneath the heavy wool quickly.

"We shall be home shortly, sir." Henry promised. "The traffic seems to be lighter this evening."

"Thank you, Henry." Despite the late hour, James knew he had much to be grateful for. Henry cracked the whip lightly, and the horses moved off. Spinning quickly through London's streets, Henry had them home within twenty minutes. He stopped the brougham just outside the door and James reluctantly shrugged off the woolen blankets and lifted the latch.

"You are a man of your word." James smiled warmly up at Henry, still sitting up on the box.

"I do my best, Mr. Wilson. I gave my word to Mr. House that I'd have you home as soon as you had sent word. He was inquiring after you just before sup, but I believe Alice was bringing him a draught or two around that time, as I have heard nothing since."

James felt the smile fade from his lips. "Has he taken to his bed?"

"Yes, sir. Since half-past three. This cold, it seeps into his very bones." Henry shook his head sadly, and James nodded. "I'll see myself in then."

"Of course, sir." Henry snapped the reins and drove away. James tread carefully upon the stairs, feeling his boots slide first one way and then another. He opened the door and stepped eagerly into the warmth of Mr House's brownstone. He paused just inside the door; stymied by the delicious scents of pine, hemlock, cranberry and apple that permeated the whole of the house. One step over the threshold, and then another brought him into the common room. For a moment, he could do nothing more than stare in dumbfounded amazement at the enormous Christmas tree along the far wall. Twinkling tea candles lay upon fragrant boughs, laced with golden baubles and glass ornaments. High atop the enormous tree sat a beautifully painted Nuremberg angel. Garland had been hung upon the mantle, and dangled mere inches above a well banked fire.

"Alice?" James called hesitantly as he closed the door. He had no doubt that Alice had been behind the lavish decoration of the brownstone as Mr. House had shown no interest in such frivolity the year before.

"Mr. Wilson!" Alice scurried toward him, wiping her hands upon her apron immodestly. "I'm sorry, I did not hear you come in. Let me take your things, you must warm yourself!"

Alice helped him remove the great coat and scarf, woolen gloves and boots and busied herself with hanging them in the coat closet in the front hall while James slid his feet into house slippers and went to inspect her handiwork.

"Has Mr. House decided to indulge himself this Christmas?" James asked, feeling bewildered.

"Not precisely, Mr. Wilson." Alice gave him a winsome smile, and James bit his lip in amusement. "I haven't mentioned it yet to Mr. House just yet."

"But you will tell him?" James asked.

"You won't say anything just yet will you? I had planned on telling him, but the man was in such pain that he took to his bed early this afternoon. Seemed best to go on with it by then."

"I quite understand." James cast one more look about the room, admiring the beautiful decorations. "It's possible that Mr. House already knows." James cautioned, and Alice's eyes grew wide.

"Oh, surely not, Mr. Wilson. Mr. House was abed the whole of the evening."

"Tis not the eyes that give it away, but rather the scent."

"Oh." Alice waved her hands in relief. "I told Mr. House I was baking him a pie."

"Apple?" James asked.

"Yes." She said firmly. "He seemed none the wiser."

That, James knew, was a side-effect of the medicine he'd prescribed for himself. Mr. House was ordinarily the most curious man he'd ever met. If he had shown no interest in Alice's activities—for she could not have been silent—then it was safe to assume that he'd dosed himself liberally to ease the pain.

"Alice, my dear, would you mind terribly fetching me a bowl of your soup? I was unable to dine this evening, and I find I won't be able to last til the morning."

"Of course, Mr. Wilson." Alice beamed at him, and bound to the kitchen. "I set aside a bit of ham for you, too." She called. Pleased by the distraction, James smiled and crossed to the stairs. Two at a time he climbed steadily up til he reached the top. All was quiet upon the second floor, and James moved silently down to Mr. House's door. If he was asleep, then he could certainly wait until morning to receive his report. But if he was awake, James wanted to put his mind at ease as quickly as possible. He did not knock, but opened the door quietly and put his head inside. The lantern beside the bed burned low, giving the room a pale, ghostly light. The bed curtains were drawn against the cold, though Alice had banked the fire with as much coal and wood as fit within the hearth. He closed the door quietly, trudged softly to the bed and put his head in the curtains. Mr. House was asleep, though his face was pinched and pale. His leg was propped atop a mound of pillows, and James was willing to bet that Alice had warmed stones and the bedclothes before wrapping them about his leg. Thankful that his mentor had found some respite from the pain, James left the room quietly. Mr. House's report would have to wait until the morn.


	9. Chapter 9

His weariness and the lingering chill drove him to his bed earlier than was his norm. Alice had taken great pains to warm his bedclothes whilst he had supped and sent Henry in to remove the stones once he had settled beneath the duvet. Her tasks for the evening completed, Alice had dampened the lamps and trimmed the wicks for the morrow's use before departing herself. Weary, yet unable to sleep, James had listened to Henry's footsteps echo throughout the brownstone as he quietly pulled the draperies and stoked the fires to last the night. Then he had returned upstairs and checked upon his master. James had held his breath then, fearing Mr. House had awakened or had suffered some other malady but Henry had stepped back out of the room almost as quickly as he had gone in. James traced Henry's footsteps up the stairs and listened faintly as the door to the attic clicked shut. He listened, briefly to Henry splashing water into his basin, and heard the thump thump as he stepped out of his boots. If Henry made further noise as he readied himself for bed, James could not recall as he finally, mercifully fell asleep.

He woke sharply, jolted from his dreams. Lying in bed, unmoving, James struggled to recall why he had awakened only to jump once more as someone pounded on the door below. Above him, James heard Henry open his door and heard him stumble down the stairs. He turned the locks and opened the door, grumbling under his breath.

"If you've roused the master there'll be the devil to pay." He warned savagely.

"Your servant, sir." said the voice at the door. "I've come with a message for Mr. House?"

"I'm his man." Henry asserted. "I would be happy to pass along any message to my master in the morn."

"Sir William has requested Mr. House's presence."

"At this hour?" Henry cried. "Has Sir William forgotten my master's disposition?"

"He sends his regrets, but bade me to ask you to fetch him quickly. The Prince Leopold has suffered a malady, and the Queen has commanded that only Sir William's finest physicians attend him."

Upstairs, James sat upright in bed. The Prince Leopold! He scrambled out of bed and darted blindly toward his wardrobe before returning to the bedside table and lighting his lamp with shaking fingers. Donning his suit quickly, James nervously splashed his face with the cold water left in the basin and combed his traitorous hair down before striding briskly into the hall. Henry met him at the top of the stairs, looking surprised.

"Mr. Wilson." He greeted, frowning slightly. "I gather you overheard our conversation."

"Yes, of course. I'll rouse Mr. House. Did Sir William send his coach?" He asked. Henry shook his head, and James blinked in surprise. Surely Sir William hadn't asked the poor man to run the message over himself.

"If you'll see to the coach, I shall endeavor to have Mr. House ready when you park in the drive." James promised. "And Henry—"

"Yes, Mr. Wilson?"

"I know Mr. House thinks of naught but the medicine. But it would be best if he were to look his smartest. Perhaps, if you've time, run a rag over the cushions and give the silver a once over? T'would go a long way to making him more respectable." Henry nodded and hied himself up to his room to dress himself properly. James steeled himself, and twisted the knob to Mr. House's door. The dying embers of the fire in the hearth lit the room dimly, and James stared into the darkness to accustom his eyes.

"Mr. House?" he called, stepping into the room fully. He left the door ajar, relying upon the weak stream of moonlight from the hall to guide his steps to the bed. "Mr. House." He called again, more firmly than before. Reaching the bedside, he swept the bedcurtains aside to find his employer was as he had left him. James put a hand upon his chest and counted his breaths for sixty seconds. Ten breaths per minute.

Mr. House had dosed himself liberally to ease his pain, as was his custom. James sighed, and reached to light the lamp. Staring down at Mr. House's pinched face, he considered his options.

"Mr. House?" he asked again. Casting about, he found Alice had left the water pitcher and basin on the bedside table. He dipped his fingers into the water and was pleased to find it was quite cold. Grasping the pitcher, he tipped the rest of the water into the basin before setting it aside. He took the basin firmly into both hands and stood, undecided, gazing down into the face of his employer.

"Mr. House, please." He said aloud, and when his words prompted no response he lifted the basin and doused him without another thought. Mr. House woke then, sputtering in rage.

"Sir William sent for us. He has a case that specifically requires your attention." James said flatly.

Mr. House squinted at him blearily, while mopping the water away from his eyes with a corner of the duvet.

"May I assume from my rude awakening that this case could not wait until the morrow?" he rasped, giving James an amused grin. James smiled in reply, relieved to see that Mr. House's eyes were clear, if not bright in the low lamp light.

"With apologies, no." James shoved the wet bedclothes aside and assisted Mr. House as he struggled to gain his feet. Gesturing impatiently, Mr. House thrust him aside and stubbornly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Long accustomed to his employer's moods, James took no offense and instead turned to the wardrobe. He surveyed the contents closely, taking care to select Mr. House's best trousers, his finest silk shirt and cravat, his cream coloured waistcoat and his brightly polished boots. To overtop it, he chose the navy doublebreasted frock coat.

"Are we going to tea?" Mr. House asked coldly, and James ignored him as he helped Mr. House to stand and dress. James knew from the way Mr. House allowed his assistance that he still felt the calming affect of his medication, for his employer made no further comment. He fastened a pair of suspenders and secured them about Mr. House's shoulders before helping him into his frock coat. Easing him to sit, James guided his feet into his boots and assisting him with the boot pulls until his feet and legs were comfortably encased. He eyed his mentor's scruffy beard distastefully, but there was no help for it. They lacked the time to groom him properly. He settled for damping Mr. House's hair and ran a comb through it quickly.

"My dear James." Mr. House patted his hand tiredly. "Where would I be without you?"

"Most likely asleep, Mr. House." James said cryptically as he selected a silver handled cane. He pressed it into Mr. House's hand and pulled him to his feet once more. As they made their way down the stairs, James could see Henry had been true to his word and was waiting for them in the drive.

"What time is it?" Mr. House asked, upon seeing how dark it was outside.

"Half-past two." James commented idly as Henry slid down from his box and met them at the door.

"In the morn?" Mr. House asked stupidly.

Ignoring the question, James focused on Henry who stooped allow Mr. House to lean upon him. "Had you time to warm the lap blankets?"

"Yes, I had enough time to tuck in a few bricks." Henry balanced Mr. House's precarious form while James drew his wool coat about him tightly. Tipping Mr. House's hat upon his head, he quickly donned his own and lifted Mr. House from Henry's grasp.

"Shall we?" he asked gallantly.


	10. Chapter 10

It was cold. And dark. James had swung himself in the carriage, sliding just far enough that he could still take Mr. House's weight upon his shoulder while Henry pushed him from behind. James smothered his laughter at Mr. House's disgruntled expression as Henry closed the door and scrambled atop the brougham to take up the reins.

"Tis a terrible thing when a man is forcibly removed from his bed in the darkest watch of the night, without explanation or warning. One might almost assume nefarious behavior, even from a gentleman such as yourself." Mr. House said thoughtfully. He rubbed his chin, and stared intently at James in the semi-darkness.

"Mr. House, I apologize for awakening you so rudely. As I said, Sir William has requested your services." James soothed, tucking the lap robes about Mr. House anxiously. "Time is of the essence."

"Has Sir William sent his notes?" Mr. House asked quietly. James nodded after a moment, casting about in the shadowy lamplight of the brougham for Sir William's log book. He held it out for Mr. House, and felt relieved when he took it; noting the steadiness of his employer's hand. For a man who had been nearly insensate less than an hour before, he seemed to have sobered quickly. James leaned back, rubbing his eyes while Mr. House opened the journal and began to read quietly to himself.

"Has Sir William taken leave of his senses?" Mr. House asked aloud after a moment of silence. His blue eyes flashed dangerously, and James leaned forward in alarm.

"What is wrong?"

"He sends for me when the patient is already diagnosed!" Mr. House closed the journal and set it distastefully upon the seat beside him.

The Prince Leopold?" James asked stupidly. Whether his lethargy was due to the late hour or cumulative loss of sleep, James found he could not think clearly.

"Diagnoses happen, if you recall my dear James—at the end of the case. Certainly not before, and I bade Sir William to call upon me only if the diagnosis could not be easily ascertained!" Mr. House was angrier than James could ever recall, and he found himself unable to speak in light of Mr. House's fury.

"Henry!" Mr. House called out. "You're to return home at once!" Home? James struggled to breathe air into his lungs. Surely Mr. House could not refuse Sir William's request? And risk the displeasure of the Queen herself? Surely Mr. House's principals were not worth so great a risk to a member of the Royal Family?

"No!" he cried.

"No?" Mr. House echoed faintly. "I have not the inclination to become nothing more than a favourite dog that comes when called."

"Surely it is worth a look, is it not Mr. House?" James pleaded. "We have already been roused in the night and are more than half-way there. You could have the satisfaction of knowing that you have done a favour for Sir William and could perhaps call upon him in your time of need."

Mr. House turned to face him then, and James gave only a minute flinch as his ice-cold blue eyes lingered upon him. The brougham slowed, and James could feel the horses break smoothly down to a walk as Henry found a place to turn about.

"You may resume our journey, Henry." Mr. House called. "We shall undertake the Prince Leopold's case upon Mr. Wilson's request."

James breathed out, feeling relief and trepidation linger in his chest as Mr. House held out the journal for his inspection.

"You had best bring yourself up to speed, my dear James. 'Twill be your first case of haemophilia."

James had been somewhat dismayed when he had taken Sir William's journal from Mr. House's hand. Despite all the knowledge he had acquired working with Mr. House—haemophilia had not been yet addressed.

"You must forgive me, Mr. House. I know naught of haemophilia other than it is a disease of the blood."

"Let us break it down, shall we?" Mr. House asked. He settled back in his seat, and met James eyes steadily. "'Haemophilia' comes from the Greek haima. It means blood. 'Philia' means to love. We do not know why, but those afflicted with this condition seem to be missing the body's ability to clot. The Prince Leopold has long been afflicted with this sad ailment and surely would know how to best protect himself from injury. I believe we could assume from the summons that some malady has occurred."

James nodded. "What is the customary treatment when a bleed has begun?"

"Most commonly the injury will be tightly wrapped. The arteries and veins must be constricted, or blood flow would continue until the body had exsanguinated itself. If the blood source can be stemmed, it is likely that the patient would recover. Even so, for all but the slightest cut death is more likely to occur."

Mr. House fell silent then, and James perused Sir William's notes. The Prince Leopold had slipped and fallen upon his knee. The blood was perfusing beneath the surface. Had his haemophilia not been present, James knew they should have bloodlet and reduced the swelling. With but a week's rest, he should have been upon his feet once more. But there was nearly no chance of opening the wound to drain it safely. At his wit's end, Prince Leopold's personal physician had requested Sir William's opinion on the matter. Sir William had requested Mr. House's expertise.

Lost in his thoughts, James nearly missed their approach to Buckingham Palace. Setting the journal aside for the moment, James found himself intrigued by the dimly lit gas-lamps beside the guard boxes Henry had stopped before. From atop the carriage, Henry had passed down Sir William's note and the young lieutenant standing the watch had studied it intently before handing it back. Clearly satisfied, he waved the brougham on and closed the great iron gate behind them with a clatter.

"Have you been to the Palace before, Mr. House?" James asked anxiously.

"Once, when I was very young." Mr. House admitted quietly.

Thr brougham rattled loudly as Henry guided the horses across the cobblestones at a walk. Their pace was surely due to Henry's consideration for his master's comfort, as with every jolt Mr. House winced noticeably. In the dim light, James could make out little more than shapes and impressions of the great Palace. Henry slowed still more and came to a stop within the circular drive, sparing only a moment to tie off his lines before descending to open the door.

"Mr. House. Mr. Wilson." He said quietly.

"Thank you, Henry." Mr. House said faintly. James could feel his apprehension roll off of him in waves. Surely Mr. House was not anxious about meeting the Prince Leopold?

"James, I wonder if you might assist me? I fear I might not be able to step down presently."

"Of course, Mr. House." James eased himself around Mr. House and extended his hand, supporting him beneath one elbow while Henry took the other. Once he was firmly upon the ground, he motioned impatiently for his cane. Taking the stairs stiffly, Mr. House led the way impatiently into the main hall. Two footmen opened the doors before them to reveal a gentleman awaiting them.

"Mr. House, I presume?"

"Yes, I am he."

"I am John Legg." He held a hand out in greeting, and Mr. House stepped forward, switched his cane from left hand to right hand and took it congenially. "I am His Royal Highness' personal physician."

"May I introduce my assistant, James Wilson."

"My pleasure, my pleasure." He took James' hand eagerly. "I am grateful you gentlemen have come in our hour of need. This way, please." He gestured them forward down a long, dark corridor.

"I presume you have had a chance to review our case notes. Sir William seemed most hopeful that you might have some insight."

"I understand the severity of His Royal Highness' injury; given the nature of his health makes his prognosis doubtful. Still, I may know of a procedure."

"I've nearly come to my wits' end. Tis a difficult case, to be sure!" John Legg led them forward through another set of door and came to the base of a grand staircase. He took the steps two at a time swiftly without looking back.

"James?" Mr. House said quietly.

"Yes, Mr. House?"

"I believe I shall medicate myself heavily this coming eve. And perhaps for many days thereafter." Mr. House hooked his cane across his left arm and grasped the railing firmly. James took his other arm, and set it upon his own shoulders.

"Yes, Mr. House." He repeated, smiling.

Together, they struggled forward up the stairs. With dogged persistence, Mr. House insisted upon only stopping once. By the time the reached the top, Mr. House was trembling violently, and James felt sweat tickle the base of his neck and trickle beneath his cravat.

"I apologize, gentlemen." John Legg awaited them quietly. "I had not anticipated—"

"Quite all right, quite all right." Mr. House murmured breathlessly. James released him, and he took his cane from the crook of his elbow; leaning upon it heavily. With shaking hands, he withdrew his kerchief and mopped his brow. He folded it once, and tucked it back in his pocket again.

"Shall we see our patient?" he asked quietly. James nodded in agreement, and Mr. Legg guided them forward once more. Atop the staircase, James could see down to the hall beneath. Lamplight brightened the upper floors. Great marble floors below were covered by beautiful rugs. The walls and ceilings were bordered by intricate gold scrollwork. Every few feet or so hung paintings in great gilded frames, or priceless vases atop small tables. A runner ran the length of the hall to a solid oaken door, and James winced when he realized the rug made it far more difficult for Mr. House to find his footing. Just down the hall, one of the doors opened and Sir William emerged, looking worn.

"My dear friend Gregory!" he called, smiling tiredly. "I am grateful that you have come. If we have ever needed your advice it is now!"

Mr. House did not smile as he met Sir William's eyes grimly."I only hope that we have come in time."


	11. Chapter 11

It was His Royal Highness' physician, John Legg, who led them into the Prince Leopold's private chambers. Unlike the grandeur of the Palace beyond, the Prince's chambers were sparsely furnished with simple tables and chairs, and a vast array of books. Within the bedroom itself was an enormous bed with simple brocaded curtains thrown open and a comfortable array of bedclothes. The Prince himself was lying with his knee propped on a large pillow. His brown eyes were pained, and he sweated in the stifling warmth of the chamber.

"Sir William. Sir John. I presume this is the physician you have sent for?" Prince Leopold asked, and James swept the hat from his head respectfully. Mr. House did the same, limping steadily to the bedside to offer his hand.

"I am Gregory House." He gestured at James, who bobbed a nervous half-bow. "This is my assistant, James Wilson. It is a pleasure to meet you, your Highness. I wish it were under better circumstances."

"As do I." Prince Leopold gave him a half-smile as Mr. House removed his overcoat and handed it to James. "I understand you are a man who seeks radical treatment, or such was Sir William's description of you."

"As physicians, we should undertake the well being of our patients at all costs, should we not? If we will not advance the science of medicine on their behalf, then to whose benefit are our advances?" Mr. House asked flatly. "I seek to aide my patients at all costs. If I fail, then I have failed. But I shall have the satisfaction in knowing that I was not afraid to try."

Prince Leopold met Mr. House's gaze intently, searchingly. When at last he consented with a nod of his head, Mr. House stepped closer to the bed and sank down upon the mattress. Balancing himself by placing his cane in his lap, he tenderly unwrapped the Prince's knee and gazed down upon it. Angry bruising dotted the surface, and the joint was unnaturally swollen to one side. He probed it gently, taking great care not to press too deeply.

"Tell me, your Highness, how you fell upon it. Did you land directly on the kneecap, or did it twist beneath you?"

"It twisted beneath me. I landed with a glancing blow."

"And was anything beneath you when you landed? A bit of rope, a rock? Anything of the nature?"

"No, the dock was smooth."

"A boat dock?"

"Yes. I was preparing to make my way to Cannes, as my winters are best spent abroad."

"So I should imagine." Mr. House said dryly. "How long ago?" Mr. House gestured for his coat and James brought it to him, waiting patiently as his employer rummaged through the pockets and withdrew a stethoscope. But instead of leaning forward to press it to his chest, he scooted down the bed and gently freed the Prince's foot. He pressed the stethoscope to his foot, listening intently.

"Perhaps three days ago? I have not been very attentive to the time." The Prince admitted, and John Legg spoke up.

"It has indeed been three days, Mr. House. Have you found a way to detect the heart's beat through the foot?" one of the Prince's attendants laughed quietly in the background, and James felt resentment stir within him.

"I am not searching for the heart beat. I am making certain that the blood still flows to his lower extremity. 'Twould be a shame to remove the blockage of blood only to discover the limb below is gangrenous." Mr. House said airily. He pressed the stethoscope to the Prince's other foot, and then returned to the first; listening to detect differences between one and the other.

"Your pulses are present, your Highness. They seem to be almost even." Mr. House said gravely. "Your lower extremity will not suffer further insult. We should undertake bloodletting to relieve the pressure within the joint."

"We cannot! Surely you understand the delicacy of His Royal Highness' condition!" John Legg cried, although the Prince appeared more bemused than angry.

"Please, Sir John. Please. I am certain Mr. House would not make such a recommendation frivolously."

"Indeed." Mr. House planted his cane and rose shakily to his feet. "While I was a young man, I served in the cavalry and was stationed throughout Her Majesty's colonies. During my tour of duty in India, I watched many snake charmers ply their trade in the streets. One native in particular, had his snake thusly trained to many different songs and I was intrigued by his skill. I more oftener than not engaged in conversation with him. It was during one such meeting that he imparted to me a native cure for those who bleed. The venom of a Daboia snake; titrated correctly will staunch the bleeding of any wound."

A loud murmur rose in the room, and James felt his face flush with pride.

"Have you proof?" John Legg demanded, and Mr. House shrugged gamely.

"Had I proof, I should have retired to Cannes years ago."

"I cannot allow you to endanger His Royal Highness' life. We shall have to find another way." John Legg shook his head adamantly.

"If there were any other way, I should have recommended that. Time is short." Mr. House said steadily.

"You cannot know—"

"We shall do as Mr. House recommends." The Prince said steadily, and Sir John stared at him in shock.

"Your Royal Highness, I cannot recommend this course of treatment. The risk to your person is far too great." John Legg shook his head sadly.

"The risk of doing nothing is also great. If it is as Mr. House says, I shall soon lose blood flow to the lower extremity. Do you believe I should have a better chance for survival with amputation or bloodletting?" Turning to Mr. House, the Prince nodded firmly. "Do what you must, Mr. House."

Mr. House nodded, and motioned to James. "I will need a message to be borne to the zoo."

"I shall take it for you, Mr. House."

"We shall need one thirty-second of a drahm of Daboia snake venom. It should be carried within a closed glass vial, though it would be best if it could be placed into a hypodermic syringe. Let nothing be introduced to stabilize it, and take great caution while transporting it!"

James nodded as he shrugged into his coat once more, committing Mr. House's order to memory as he left the room with one of the Prince's attendants.

"Next, I should request that His Royal Highness' bedclothes be changed, and he himself sterilized. Let the bed curtains be taken down, and all bedding removed to be aired. The scalpel shall be a #10 blade and should be boiled thoroughly. I should like it placed in an autoclave, but I have doubts of procuring one with little notice. I should also like the dressing to be sterilized as well. We have need of curare, as I should like His Royal Highness awake for the procedure." The Prince's staff moved to undertake Mr. House's requests. "The light is to be increased 'til it is as bright as a surgeon's room. We shall begin at-" Mr. House examined his pocket watch intently; "—six o'clock."

He met the Prince's gaze steadily. "I should also like to lie down for a short time before we begin."

"Have you pain?" Sir William asked gently.

"Yes, though I dare not take anything for it. The procedure shall require steady hands. T'will be enough to lie quietly for a time."

"Sir John." The Prince called, and the chastened physician approached quietly. "I should like you to find Mr. House a room.

"Very well, sir. Mr. House, will you need help?"

Mr. House swallowed anxiously, and then nodded stiffly. One of the Prince's footmen stepped forward and offered his shoulder wordlessly. They hobbled out in silence, and a short way down the hall with Mr. House grunting every so often as his leg was jarred. Sir John held the door open as they limped in together, and the footman took great care to settle him atop the bed without further paining him.

"Thank you." He whispered quietly, and Sir John nodded as he paused before the door.

"I shall leave you to rest. Have you need of anything else?"

"No. Thank you." Mr. House's eyes were closed, and he seemed to be nearly asleep. Sir William stole into the room softly, and sat down beside him on the bed. He said nothing, and after a moment Mr. House opened his eyes to watch him.

"You are a fool." Sir William said softly. "If you should fail, you risk your life. You risk your practice. Your reputation will be utterly destroyed."

"If I should fail, the Prince will lose his life." Mr. House murmured. "If I do nothing, the Prince will lose his life. Is it not better to try? For his sake, surely it is better to try?"

Sir William said nothing more as he reclined upon his chair, hands folded in his lap. On the bed, Mr. House's breathing deepened as he slipped into sleep for a time; finding a respite from the pain in his dreams that he could not find while awake.

"Into the arms of Morpheus…" Sir William said softly, and smiled to see James pause before the door.

"Not again." He said flatly, and Sir William laughed despite himself.

"No, my boy. He was in pain, and asked to lie down for a time." Sir William rose from his chair and joined him in the hall, taking care to leave the door partially open. "Had you any trouble locating the venom?"

"No, although they could not understand why I should desire such a small amount." James smiled. "The curator required my signature before he would allow me to remove the venom from the premises. He feared I planned to commit murder, and warned me that he would set the police upon me at the first hint of foul play in the papers."

Sir William sobered then, recalling the procedure Mr. House had proposed. "The curator will certainly have no difficulty fingering the culprits should this plan go awry." He said dryly.

"No, he certainly won't." James whispered. He met Sir William's eyes intently. "I believe in Mr. House. If t'were anyone else…" he let his voice trail off, and held the hypodermic out for Sir William to take. "I shall rouse Mr. House, if you'll take this to be prepared."

"Very well. Per Mr. House's missive, we are to begin at six o'clock." Sir William examined his pocket watch intently, to find an hour and a half had already passed. "'Tis half past five now."

"I believe Mr. House would enjoy a cup of tea, since we have some time yet. And perhaps a warmed blanket?"

"I shall inquire after those items." Sir William promised. "You take excellent care of your employer."

"I do my best."


	12. Chapter 12

With some reservation, James knew; Sir John had delivered a warmed blanket for Mr. House as well as a pot of tea with two cups of fine bone china before leaving in great haste. Whether he loathed Mr. House's approach to medicine, or simply harbored an unreasonable dislike of him as a man; Sir John seemed inclined to disregard Mr. House as oft as possible. Contemplating the unusual circumstances that had brought them to the aide of the Prince Leopold, he supposed Sir John's reaction was not entirely out of character. Mr. House, he reasoned, knew the grave danger his proposed treatment posed to all of them. He likely understood Sir John's feelings more clearly than any of them. Shaking his head, James draped the blanket about Mr. House gently, taking care to tuck it about his leg where the warmth would benefit him most. Pouring the tea, he stirred in the requisite sugar and set about waking his employer.

"Mr. House? 'Tis half past five."

Mr. House stirred, bringing one hand up to his brow and rubbing his forehead in consternation. He gave James a tired smile as he tried to lift himself to a seated position. He hissed a bit as he shifted his leg with his hands. "Thank you, dear James." He murmured breathlessly when he settled back against the pillow shams.

"I'm afraid I haven't any laudanum for you, Mr. House. I did not think to bring it when we left in such haste." James hovered, feeling anxious.

"'Tis quite all right. I should like my hands to be steady for the procedure. If I were to ingest the laudanum now my hands should be steady but the rest of me would likely not." Mr. House gestured to the bedside table where James had settled the tea tray.

"Tea, Mr. House?" he asked even as he reached for the cup and saucer.

"Thank you, my boy." Mr. House sipped his tea for a moment before wrapping his hands about the cup gently. "You said 'twas half past five?"

"Nearer quarter til, now." James mused, checking his pocket-watch.

"Had you any trouble procuring the venom?"

"The curator insisted upon my leaving my name and credentials before he allowed the venom to leave his sight. Have I added too much sugar?" James gestured to the cup, and Mr. House shook his head.

"No, the tea is excellent. You'll have to forgive me if my stomach has soured." Mr. House admitted quietly, and James felt his heart sink.

"Do you think it will work?" James asked quietly, and Mr. House gave him a rueful smile.

"I know not. I know only that the Prince will die whether we undertake our endeavor or not. 'Tis only a matter of time." Mr. House sipped his tea once, and then twice more before delicately setting the cup upon the saucer and returning it. James set the cup upon the table, and assisted Mr. House as he set the blanket aside and struggled to get his feet beneath him. When he was standing at last, James gathered the blanket up and folded it carefully. He made certain to push the tea tray upon the table fully, so as to avoid a spectacular crash if Mr. House should bump into it; and picked up Mr. House's coat and top hat to carry with them.

"You may leave it, young James." Sir William called from the door. "His Royal Highness has given Mr. House this room to call his own whilst he is in charge of his care.

"'Twas very generous." James smiled as Mr. House took a tottering step forward to try his leg. He wobbled, but it held firm beneath him and Mr. House cautiously limped toward the door.

"May it not be a premature offer." Mr. House murmured as he brushed past Sir William.

The Prince Leopold's chambers had been dark and forbidding upon their first entrance; little remained as it had been scarcely an hour before. Every order had been fulfilled as Mr. House had asked. The bed linens had been changed and aired, the curtains removed; the heavily brocaded drapes had been flung wide open to the brightening dawn. The room was ablaze with light, as gas lanterns had been hung from every bedpost. The bedside table was laden with the syringes, scalpels and the fresh, sterilized bandages Mr. House had requested. The Prince himself had been sterilized as well, his nightclothes had been changed and his legs were bare above the white sheets. He gave Mr. House an appraising look as he entered the room with his familiar, lurching gait.

"I trust the room met with your approval, Mr. House?" he asked quietly. The look in his eyes was one of both sympathy and expectation; if any man understood Mr. House's feelings regarding his infirmity it was the Prince Leopold himself.

"It most certainly did, your Royal Highness. I thank you for your hospitality."

"As you can imagine," the Prince said with a droll smile; "I am most ready to begin."

"Certainly." Mr. House agreed, and James felt his chest tighten anxiously. He steeled himself, feeling his anxiety slip away as he reminded himself that Mr. House always worked to achieve the best results for his patients. He believed the benefits of carrying out the procedure outweighed the risks.

Mr. House removed his tea coat and rolled his sleeves up above his elbows. He settled beside the Prince, and gently freed his leg of the sheets as he inspected his knee once more cautiously. The joint was swollen, the large hematoma had expanded still further; sagging down the side of his leg. Mr, House was careful to support the skin as he set the leg down once more.

"The curare, please. It should be titrated to 1/12 grain. Also, I should like the venom itself to be diluted with distilled water, as much as the syringe will hold." Mr. House said calmly. James nodded, and handed him the syringe with the prepared dosage of curare before returning his attention to the boiled, cooled water he drew into the hypodermic filled with the venom. Mr. House did not look to him as he took it and palpated the knee once more before settling upon an injection site to the inside of the bicep femoris. He did little more than touch the needle to his leg before removing it once more; he did this several times near the sartorius and the vastus medialus.

"How does your leg feel?" Mr. House asked, when he had laid the syringe aside and a few minutes had passed.

"The pain is fading." The Prince nodded, closing his eyes in relief. Mr. House's eyes glittered with sympathy.

"I regret to tell you that the curare will do little for alleviating the pain when we introduce the venom. But in the interim, I thought perhaps a respite might be welcome."

"Thank you, Mr. House." The Prince whispered in gratitude, though his eyes remained closed.

"Whilst you are comfortable, I should like you to recline. Only your upper body should remain upright against the pillows."

The Prince's attendants came forward then, and assisted him to lie back with the pillows keeping his chest upright. The pillows were moved from beneath his knee and scuttled down to the foot of the bed and placed beneath his ankle. A basin was settled beneath his knee to presumably capture the blood as it flowed.

"I shall begin by slicing open the hematoma." Mr. House intoned quietly. "James, I should like you to remain at my side with the venom at the ready. I believe it would be best if we first open the wound and then administer the venom, as I should like to give it an objective from the moment it enters the body." Mr. House told him cautiously as he outlined his procedure. "I know not how long it will take to work. I know not if it will work."

"I understand, Mr. House. I shall not hold it against you if the worst should come." The Prince told him quietly. Opening his eyes, the Prince found Sir John's eyes. "Mr. House should be held blameless should I die. Is that understood?"

Sir John swallowed, nodding. "Yes, your Royal Highness."

"You may proceed, Mr. House."

Sir William pressed in close beside the bed, and offered to James the syringe of Daboia snake venom. "Is there anything I might do?" he asked quietly. Mr. House shook his head as he shifted himself upon the bed, and leaned forward to take hold of the Prince's leg below the knee. With infinite tenderness, he took up his scalpel and sliced gently the tiniest incision measuring but a tenth of an inch.

From behind him, Sir John scoffed. "If we are to bloodlet, we should have and be done. A tiny incision such as you have made will no more drain the wound than a pinprick."

"I should like to remind you, Sir John, that His Royal Highness' condition does not lend itself to repairing the damage done by the slightest pinprick. 'Tis easier to deal with the flow of blood from a small incision than a gaping wound." Mr. House said shortly. James bit his lip, smiling inwardly at the conciliatory tone Mr. House had assumed. Such an unusual man! To be so even tempered when the situation warranted the utmost caution and care; and yet to be so cantankerous and willful as a child nearly every other day of the week. What an extraordinary man he was!

Sir John said nothing more, and Mr. House returned his attention to the pool of blood deepening within the basin beneath His Royal Highness' knee. As if waiting for a miracle, Mr. House waited silently; watching the blood drip. He reached out every so often, manipulating the large hematoma upon the side of His Royal Highness' leg. His gentle fingers guided the blood toward the incision he had made.

"The blood in the hematoma must be removed before we administer the venom. Otherwise, we will have risked your life but gained nothing." Mr. House said again. The Prince nodded, shifting himself slightly upon the pillows to gain a better look. No one spoke. No one breathed. James held himself still, just beyond the reach of Mr. House's shoulder. The syringe was heavy in his grasp and he held it aloft patiently.

"I believe we have nearly come to the end." Mr. House said softly. He gently pressed the loosened skin and found that blood no longer filled the hematoma. The wound was drained, although the blood still flowed. "Are you in any pain, your Royal Highness?" he inquired as he pressed a sterile cloth to the wound and bent the Prince's leg at the knee in a futile attempt to staunch the blood. He took the limb into his hands and took it through its' motions.

"I feel nothing below the thigh." The Prince admitted quietly. "Surely you know the blood will not cease with your manipulation?" he asked.

"Yes, I know it shall not cease until we have administered the venom." Mr. House agreed. "I should like to ascertain that the blood still flows to your extremities and that the joint has not been compromised before we proceed."

"Has there been any loss of function?" Sir William asked.

"The limb seems easily manipulated and thus; undamaged." Mr. House placed His Royal Highness' ankle back upon the cushion squarely, and motioned for one of the Prince's attendants to replace the basin with a new one. He removed the bandage and the blood once again flowed freely.

"And now we come to our great experiment." Mr. House said quietly. He met the Prince's gaze steadily, and held his hand out for the remaining syringe.

"Proceed, Mr. House." The Prince said quietly.

Mr. House took the syringe firmly, and selected an injection site just above the wound and into the muscle. He slid the needle deep into the flesh and slowly depressed the plunger. James drew a deep breath and held it; feeling as though he had taken a deep plunge into icy water and waited, for whatever came next. He did not have long to wait.

Nearly immediately, the Prince's breath came shorter and more rapidly until his chest heaved with the effort yet moved no air. His loud gasps echoed in the room. Sweat developed rapidly, soaking through his nightshirt in great wet patches. His heart was beating madly as well; James could see each fast beat throb in the artery of his neck. And still, the blood flowed from his wound without pause.

"He's not breathing!" Sir John called, leaning over the bed in his anxious attempt to reach the Prince. "We must set him upright to ease the passage of air." The footmen moved, only to pause as Mr. House gained his feet and shoved them away. He took the pillows from beneath the Prince's head and eased him to lie upon his back. The Prince met his gaze steadily; his brown eyes were filled with fear. James felt his own heart nearly stop when Mr. House turned to him and snapped; "I shall need a tenaculum, two aneurysm needles, haemostatic forceps, tenotome, tracheal dilator and the tracheostomy tube. You gentlemen," Mr. House gestured to the footmen who hovered beyond Sir John anxiously; "restrain him."

"What do you propose?" Sir John demanded angrily. "His Royal Highness will die if he cannot draw air! He must be set upright to breathe!"

"We must administer a tracheotomy. It is the only way—"

"No! I will not allow this fallacy to continue!" Sir John cried.

"His Highness cannot breathe! It is the only way to relieve the pressure within his lungs." Mr. House countered. "Every moment you waste arguing with me is one moment closer to his death." Mr. House scarcely paused to draw breath. "Gentlemen, restrain him. James—"

"Yes, Mr. House." James said smoothly even as the footmen took each one of the Prince's arms. He took the tenaculum into his hands before slapping it into Mr. House's outstretched palm; acquiring each item in succession as he called for it. Mr. House took the Prince's chin into his hands and tipped his head back. With the tenaculum, he sliced through the top layers of the derma in one deft movement. Returning it, he took the proferred aneurysm needles and retracted the skin expertly. With the haemostatic forceps he lifted and clamped the blood vessels disturbed by the incision. There was no time to ligature them; time was of the essence. Taking the tenotome, he made a cautious incision into the trachea and passed the dilators through swiftly, fastening the tube into place by turning the screws 'til the pieces came together to seal. Almost immediately, the Prince drew air. One deep breath after another, and his heart beat slowed almost immediately. The footmen slowly released him, and the Prince fell back against the pillows; eyes closed, face lax.

"Can you draw breath more easily?" Mr. House asked cautiously.

"Yes." The Prince whispered hoarsely. His voice sounded odd as the tracheotomy tube vibrated with the sounds of his speech.

"How do you feel?" Mr. House asked, checking the Prince's temperature and pulse; looking satisfied when he found both to be returning to normal. "Have you any chest pain or difficulty in breathing?"

"I am wearied. My heart no longer races, though I do feel odd drawing breath with this tube." The Prince admitted in a low voice. "My leg-?" he asked anxiously.

Mr. House re-seated himself upon the bed and inspected the leg closely before sitting up with a prim smile. "The blood has ceased flowing."

"Impossible!" Sir John cried, and threw himself upon the bed unceremoniously to inspect the incision for himself. The basin half-filled with blood sloshed and splashed the bed a vivid red. But there was no denying it. The bleeding had stopped. The incision no longer bled at all, but a faint gleam of encrusted blood sealed the wound neatly. James felt wonderment dawn upon his face; it was much the same for Sir William, who looked as though he were faint. Mr. House lifted himself to his feet heavily, and motioned to one of the footmen.

"We shall require a length of catgut and a thoroughly sterilized needle to be prepared within the hour. I shall remove the breathing tube now that the worst of the venom's affect has passed through His Royal Highness' system."

The man nodded, and bowed out of the room without a second glance to Sir John, who stood, looking chastened beside the bed.

"My apologies, Mr. House." He said with difficulty. "I was wrong."

"It matters not who was wrong, or who was in the right." Mr. House said sagely, with a jerk of his head. "The only matter of importance is that His Royal Highness will live."


	13. Chapter 13

Time had passed. Only once the tracheotomy had been undone, and Mr. House had been satisfied with His Highness's stability had he been persuaded to tend to his own needs. He had only left at the Prince's behest and with the help of his footman. Otherwise, James knew—Mr. House should have stayed indefinitely. James had stayed for the remainder of the day to satisfy Mr. House's expectations. The sun had risen and set once more before James felt comfortable leaving Prince Leopold's side to return to the chambers they'd been given. Henry rose to his feet stiffly as he crept inside the door of their suite without knocking; given the circumstances James knew Mr. House would forgive his impropriety this one time.

"Mr. Wilson." Henry greeted in a low voice. He looked drained, and James imagined he fared little better.

"Henry." James stretched wearily in the dim firelight. "How fares Mr. House?" he asked quietly.

"He is abed. He has been restless these past hours, but he has refused all comfort." Henry confessed, and James sighed. He'd expected such, as Mr. House had partaken in more activity in the course of a single day than he had within the past month. Perhaps two months.

"I expected as much." He confessed aloud, and rubbed a hand wearily along the back of his neck. "I am sorry to ask, Henry—I know you are as wearied by the day's events as we are—but would you return with haste to Mr. House's flat and retrieve his medicine?"

"Of course, Mr. Wilson." Henry moved to retrieve his coat from the tree beside the door. "Shall I fetch Mr. House's laudanum or his morphine?"

"Both, if you please. To be safe. Also, I expect it would be prudent to retrieve a change of clothes for the both of us, if you would be so kind. I imagine we shall be here through the morrow." James sighed.

"Yes sir. I shall fetch the trunks. Have you need of anything else?" Henry asked.

"No. Godspeed, Henry." He said softly as Mr. House's hired man slipped out the door. Turning his attention to the matters at hand, James removed his suit jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. Rolling up his sleeves, he moved deftly to the bedchamber next door. From the doorway he could make out Mr. House's slender body lying atop the bed covers. He was trembling fitfully, and James approached cautiously; as mindful as he would be near a wounded animal.

"Mr. House." He said softly. "I've sent Henry to fetch your medicines. Is there anything I can do for you in the meantime?"

"No." he whispered hoarsely. "Yes, I—" Mr. House breathed then, shakily, and ground his head back into the pillows in agony.

"Would massage prove helpful?" James asked anxiously, stepping closer to the bed and planting his hands upon the mattress. Mr. House's whole body arched in agony off the mattress; he was panting endlessly, unable to produce more sound than tiny, irrepressible grunts. James bit his lip nervously; he longed to assist Mr. House even if he did nothing more than hold his hand while he writhed in pain, but feared causing further hurt. A knock on the door drew his attention, and James hesitated for a moment before crossing the room in long strides to fling the door open expectantly.

"Sir William!" he cried in delight.

"You were expecting someone else?" he asked jovially, stepping into the room and removing his coat in one smooth movement.

"Yes, sir. I was expecting Henry as I sent him 'round for Mr. House's medication."

"Well, well." Sir William was saying as he rolled up his sleeves. "I've not any medicine on me right this moment, more's the pity—but I thought perhaps I might assist you with Mr. House."

"'T'would be greatly appreciated, Sir William." James confessed as he followed Sir William to Mr. House's bedside. Upon looking at him, Sir William reached forward and took Mr. House's hand in his own grasp firmly.

"Say the word, Mr. House, and I shall order up a warm bath for you the likes of which you have not seen!" he said jovially. Mr. House blinked up at him wearily, his face pinched and eyes tired.

"A bath?"

"In a spa of marble with waters as warm as the Caribbean. I should think the warmth might ease the pain of your leg, would it not?"

Slowly, Mr. House nodded. James stepped close to take Mr. House's hand when Sir William stepped away to prepare the bath for him. Upon Sir William's return he entered the room with one of the Prince's footmen, who drew close to the bed and waited expectantly.

"I know you consider being carried an affront to your pride; but listen to me, old friend. Your leg should not be expected to bear weight when the nerves misfire so. Please, allow Mr. Carrington to take you to the bath. I promise, there is not a soul within the Palace who would think less of you when you are in such pain." Sir William was impassioned, and James could see that Mr. House had been moved by his words when he gave his assent with a single nod. Mr. Carrington gingerly took Mr. House into his powerful arms and lifted him in one smooth movement. No one spoke as he was carried out into the hall and down the same flight of stairs that had proven to be a bane upon his arrival. James saw no one standing about, luckily—the last thing Mr. House might have wanted was to be a spectacle when he was so ill at ease.

The spa room was a large, airy bath chamber with beautiful marble sculptures and a large body of water so warm that steam arose from it. James could feel the warmth radiate through his silk shirt and breathed deeply, allowing the warmth and humidity to fill his lungs gratefully.

Mr. Carrington gently settled Mr. House upon a padded table top and, after a silent query began assisting him in removing his clothing. Shoes, pants, suspenders and undergarments were removed solemnly, wordlessly and Mr. House was carefully covered with a towel.

James was surprised to find that the water was not terribly deep, as he had first supposed. Mr. Carrington had only removed his own shoes and rolled his trousers up above his knees before he'd waded into the water with his charge.

"Do you need any help, Mr. House?" James asked quietly. He longed to remove his own shoes and plunge his feet into the warm water to chase the lingering chill from his bones; but he dared not indulge himself without Mr. House's permission. When Mr. House made no answer, James knelt hurriedly beside him atop the ledge and pressed his fingers urgently to his neck. The pulse beat reassuringly against his fingers. Mr. House did not stir, save for the fluttering of his eyelashes at James' touch.

"He has gone to sleep." James said softly, disbelievingly.

"Or he is unconscious." Sir William said faintly, looking disturbed. James hurriedly divested himself of his shoes and rolled his own trousers up well above the knee to spare them a good soaking. He dropped into the water and anxiously pressed his fingers to Mr. House's wrist, feeling intently for his pulse once more. When he had clung to Mr. House's hand earlier, his very pulse had pounded through his veins in a rushing crescendo; now it had slowed and beat gently, infrequently beneath his grasp. His breathing was gentle and slow; the pain that had crinkled the crow's feet about his eyes and sharpened the lines about his mouth had eased perceptibly. Asleep—or unconscious—he was no longer in pain, and for that, James was grateful. He met Sir William's gaze, and was reassured by his slight smile.

"We shall simply be grateful for the reprieve on Mr. House's behalf." he proclaimed. James smiled, and splashed about childishly for a moment before heaving himself atop the basin's ledge. His feet hung in the water, and he let them swing back and forth idly beneath the water's surface, relishing in the warmth.

An hour had scarcely passed when Sir William had motioned for the footman to retrieve Mr. House from the water. Mr. Carrington had lifted him gently out of the water and settled him atop the table once more and dried him, thoroughly. He did not stir, even while being vigorously rubbed with the towel and James knew he was deeply unconscious. Sir William had lingered, remaining a discreet distance from Mr. House whilst he was being dried, but once he had been safely covered he had ventured close.

"He is unconscious." James said quietly. He stood at Sir William's elbow and hovered anxiously.

"Yes." He said shortly. Sir William checked Mr. House's pulse for himself, and then threw aside the towel and inspected his leg, closely.

"Had he complained of more pain recently?" he asked, and James nodded.

"Yes. He said it was the effect of the seasons."

"I believe Mr. House may have a hematoma himself." Sir William said faintly. He traced a fingertip along the inflamed ridge of the scar cautiously. "Here. And here. See how it bows?"

"Yes." James said softly. "Do you think it should need to be excised?"

"No." Mr. House groaned faintly.

James felt sharp relief when his blue eyes fluttered open at last. "How do you fare, Mr. House?" he asked quietly. "You gave us a scare."

"The spasm has broken, for the time being." He admitted. "I am weary yet. T'would be a relief to lie quietly abed."

"And the hematoma?" Sir William pressed.

"'Tis nothing." Mr. House grunted as he sat up, and drew the bath sheet about himself more securely.

"You're deluding yourself, my friend." Sir William said calmly.

"A hematoma would have more clearly defined margins." Mr. House told him calmly. "The swelling is from overtaxation of the muscle and nerves. If you'll recall, my dear James, we took a flight of stairs in our haste."

"Yes," James agreed; "I do recall."

"The swelling is merely a result of the overwork of what remains. By morning, I shall be quite sound. As sound as I shall ever be. Now, be a good lad, James, and fetch my clothes. I should like to take to my bed before the night has passed."

James nodded, as did Sir William with some hesitation. Mr. House took the proffered clothes and shooed them away impatiently, dressing himself with some asperity. Mr. Carrington had lingered; accustomed to the gruff demeanor of many a gentleman throughout his career. He had an instinctive knowledge of when his services would be required. When Mr. House had re-dressed himself, he had stepped in wordlessly and drawn Mr. House into his arms and made his way toward the door.

James had hurriedly rolled down the legs his trousers and hastily stepped into his shoes before following Mr. House's silent, sullen form. Sir William had joined them, his gaze trained intently upon Mr. House being carried up the stairs before them.

"You'll keep an eye upon him this eve, young James?" he asked expectantly.

"Of course, sir." James promised, resting one hand atop the marble banister and trailing his fingertips backwards. "I've sent Henry to fetch a change of clothes and Mr. House's medicines. He should return within the hour."

"I trust Henry will bring you garments amenable to meeting the Queen?" he asked gamely.

James felt his blood freeze and boil at the same time. He kept his gaze trained upon Mr. Carrington's back as he disappeared up the first flight and rounded the corner to take the second.

"We are meeting the Queen?" he asked hoarsely.

"Her Majesty wishes to bestow her gratitude upon you both for your assistance to the Prince Leopold. You're to lunch with her on the morrow. Provided Mr. House is well, of course. She was most intrigued by Mr. House's methods and wishes to learn more about medicine from him."

James felt winded, though the staircase was hardly steep. Sir William's eyes were sparkling in merriment; surely he understood James' ambivalence! Mr. House would need constant monitoring to ensure that he did not offend the Queen or speak out of turn. Or use his flatware inappropriately. Or—

"I wish you a good night, young James." Sir William said abruptly, and James realized they were standing outside the rooms given to them. He had no recollection of climbing the stairs or walking down the corridor.

"Yes. Good night, Sir William." He said faintly. He turned toward the door, feeling stunned.

"James?"

"Yes sir?" he asked politely.

"T'will be all right. Mr. House will behave appropriately."

"Are you certain?" he whispered anxiously.

"Yes, my boy. Quite certain. Mr. House was once a great ladies man; attentive and prudent. His injury makes him quick to judge and impulsive, but he is fully capable of self restraint."

"He just chooses not to exhibit it." James said automatically, and bit his lip in embarrassment.

"He has more influence over you than you realize, James." Sir William laughed. "Be careful only to mimic his good habits and not the bad. I shall see you in the morn."


	14. Chapter 14

Despite the warmth of the bath, Mr. House had still been in some pain as Mr. Carrington had set him gently down upon the bed. He had turned the covers down, and received Mr. House's gratitude with a gracious, silent nod before taking his leave for the night. James was pleased to see upon entering their shared suite that Henry had returned swiftly with their trunks and whatever garments Alice had seen fit to send along. He took great care puttering about the room, rummaging in the trunks; silently grateful to find that she had included Mr. House's finest trousers and shirts, dinner jackets and boots. He found his own dinner jacket and trousers were perfectly pressed as well; and smiled to think of dear Alice pressing their clothes and readying their trunks, waiting for Henry to return and pick them up. She truly was a wonderful woman. Thus distracted, he paid little mind as his employer struggled to remove his stifling trousers and boots and don his nightgown. Even with Henry's assistance it had been difficult at best. More than once Mr. House had loudly proclaimed the effort not worth undertaking; his leg trembling fitfully. Only Henry's soothing words and the promise of his relief once so attired persuaded him to change his mind. Once tucked into bed in his nightclothes, Mr. House gestured impatiently for the vial beside the bed. Henry held it out to him obediently, and James tried not to acknowledge the hunger in his gaze as he filled the hypodermic and dosed himself liberally. Thus treated, Mr. House sank back into the pillows and waited for the morphine to begin to work. Henry stoked the fire, and added coal while James warmed a brick or two to tuck in beside him. The warmth of the room was nearly stifling, but 'twould hopefully outlast the night's encroaching frost. The pain in his leg would return in the cool of the night; as it always did despite however much morphine or laudanum he dosed himself with. There was little to be done, and Mr. House was sadly accustomed to silently suffering in the darkness. It was why he slept so late and stayed abed until the house had re-warmed most mornings.

Sparing a glance for the bed, James found Mr. House's eyes were closed and his breathing was slow and shallow; he was already lost to the drug. Turning down the lamp and drawing the bed curtains, James nodded a good-night to Henry who picked up a cast off blanket and hied himself to the chair beside the bed. He would keep watch the night for Mr. House; watch his breathing and wake him should his breath slow or stop from the morphine.

James sat down upon his own bed wearily, rubbing his nascent beard and relishing in the feel of the stubble beneath his fingertips. The skin on skin contact was invigorating; for a moment he felt sharply awake. Sighing deeply, he settled back against the pillows and struggled to summon the energy to remove his boots and change himself. Accustomed as he was to the unusual hours Mr. House had forced upon him he was surprised to find his eyes had closed of their own accord whilst he had been thinking. He struggled then to prise them open; but darkness settled, and he knew nothing more.

When morning broke, James could not ascertain. He lay in the semi-darkness quietly for a time; absorbing the sound and scent of the great Palace waking up about him. Too awake to sleep, too tired to rise; he drifted to the distant scuffling and voices echoing dimly. He left his eyes closed; childishly resisting the ever increasing light of the room and the subtle, muted footsteps that drew ever closer. When the footsteps stopped; James felt himself fall away from the noise and back into sleep for an instant.

Only to waken abruptly when Henry sat down beside him on the bed.

"Mr. Wilson?" he asked quietly; placing a hand upon his upper arm. "Mr. Wilson?"

"Henry?" James longed to remain abed for a time longer, but opened his eyes dutifully.

"Sir William asked after Mr. House this morn. I told him I could not speak for you or Mr. House, but that I expected you should be awake for tea this afternoon." Henry looked abashed. "Mr. House has stirred, but not awakened. His breath seems strong; I had not the heart to wake him as he has not slept through the night since the very last week of October."

"Forgive me, Henry," James struggled with his own weariness and his desire to remain civil; "but surely if you could not bring yourself to wake Mr. House you could allow me to continue to rest as well."

Henry looked abashed—and amused.

"Certainly, Mr. Wilson. However, I thought you might perhaps want the hour before tea to make yourself ready."

"An hour before—what time is it, Henry?"

"Half past one, sir." Henry smiled as James scurried off the bed looking dreadfully unkempt with his hair standing wildly on end and his cheek lined with creases from the pillow.

"Half past one?" James cried, turning one direction and then another. "Surely I have not slept the day away!"

"Yes, sir." Henry rose to his feet again, moving slowly toward Mr. House's bedroom purposefully. "Shall I rouse Mr. House?"

"Yes. No. What time did Sir William inquire after?"

"Tea time was to be at 2:30 sharp. In the east wing, I believe, sir."

"Then I think it best we rouse Mr. House and dress him in haste." James ran a hand through his own hair distastefully. "Do you think you can manage him for a time?" James asked anxiously. "I am afraid I shall need to tend to myself before I am to be any help to Mr. House."

"Yes, sir. I don't believe Mr. House will desire to shave himself, and he was thoroughly bathed last night, so to speak. I shan't take long to rouse him."

In the end, James found it was he himself who was late. Nearly so, in any case. He had dithered and frittered away his precious hour until the hour had struck, and then again at a quarter past. He had taken far too long in choosing his vest and waistcoat, and had chosen to shave himself lest he appear completely unkempt. At the last, he whet his hair and slicked it down; taking only a spare moment to pull himself straight in the looking-glass before dashing for the door. Of Mr. House, there was no sign; he supposed he had been taken down by Mr. Carrington once more. Only Henry's voice called directions to him as he darted down the hall.

"Down to your left, Mr. Wilson—and straight across the hall. Mr. House was taken down nearly ten minutes ago. You'll find them in the conservatory!"

Scrambling down the steps—James found his hair rebelliously flopped into his eyes as he slowed to a stop at the base of the stairs. With slightly trembling hands, he smoothed his hair once more, and lifted his chin nobly as he followed Henry's instructions before crossing the threshold. Eyes wide, he felt himself blush upon realizing he was the last one to arrive, without even the benefit of Mr. House's handicap to explain his tardiness. He beheld an august party settled 'round the table for tea; with Mr. House situated in a wide, comfortable chair near a well-banked fire. His eyes were tired, but his face relaxed; he was clearly not discomfited in the slightest by the situation. Mr. House smiled in greeting, and James smiled back- even as he felt gooseflesh rise and his blood run inexplicably cold. His only thought was panic—as a voice he had never before heard admonished him sharply.

"You're late, Mr. Wilson. I had expected a more prompt arrival from a fine physician such as yourself."

He could not decide whether it was the chilling tone with which Her Majesty addressed him; or the wide, beatific smile in answer upon Mr. House's face. The only thing he knew with certainty was that neither boded well for a simple tea party.


	15. Chapter 15

The conservatory, as Henry had thus named it was not a conservatory at all. The tapestries lining the walls were too somber, the heavy red curtains far too heavy, the chandelier far too formal; the room bespoke of a loftier purpose than a simple conservatory. Aside from that, the windows favored the north, and were it not for the warmth of the tapestries and curtains—and the roaring fire, he imagined the room would be quite chilled. Bowing respectfully, James slipped into an overstuffed red velvet chair one of the footmen drew for him at the table. Pausing to catch Mr. House's eye, James spoke, hesitantly.

"My apologies for my tardiness, Your Majesty. I was—detained." He said quietly, his voice fading to a near whisper as he spoke the last syllable. Mr. House's eyes sparkled in amusement, his mouth quirking slightly as he studied his wayward apprentice. James directed his gaze from Mr. House to the Queen seated at the head of the table. Her gaze was stern, but her voice surprisingly light when she spoke.

"See that you take more care to be prompt in the future, young Mr. Wilson." She said firmly.

James nodded, relieved to have passed muster. Chancing a glance around the table, he silently noted that their group remained small; Mr. House, Sir William, Sir John, a young woman he presumed to be the Princess Alice, and another gentleman he did not know. Introductions went 'round, James nodded politely to each, clasping his hands beneath the table to stop himself from fidgeting. Beside him, Mr. House was uncharacteristically quiet; James found he could not recall a time when Mr. House had sat so patiently without commandeering the conversation. Yet, he remained silent, listening intently as the conversation turned, naturally, to the subject of their presence. Sitting on the edge of his chair with his hands folded in his lap, James quickly tuned into the conversation he had interrupted with his tardy arrival.

"We are of course, grateful for your intervention into our son's illness, Mr. House. Sir William has told us that without your skill, he should have died of his grievous injury." The Queen said placidly. Her eyes were sharp and piercing; much like Mr. House's. And like Mr. House, he knew there was likely little she did not observe and catalogue for reference later. This skill, more than any other, was what made Mr. House such a fine physician. Mr. House inclined his head respectfully, and when he spoke his voice was gentle. "I am happy to have been of assistance."

There was a long silence at the table as the tea was brought 'round; the quiet stirring of sugars and creams, the clink of spoons being settled back upon their saucers was unnaturally loud in the quiet of the room. James was impressed to note Mr. House's genteel manner as he carefully added two sugars and cream in his customary inclination, stirring gently and settling his spoon back down on the table; as opposed to his usual inclination to rock the spoon from side to side and drop it onto the table with an abrupt toss when he no longer needed it. Mr. House had also waited, patiently, until the Queen had first sipped her own beverage before tasting his own. James felt his esteem for his employer rise more and more every second. It was difficult to remember that Mr. House had been well bred, and well brought up given his impropriety so much of the time. He did not speak of his family, nor of his childhood in great detail; but it was becoming apparent that he had clearly been well educated. James could not help but note that Mr. House did not reach for one of the scones or sandwiches and he wondered idly if his employer suffered from his nerves or the administration of his medication. In any case, there was nothing to be done about it for the moment. The silence had grown heavier when everyone tucked into their meal and Mr. House alone had not taken a repast. James himself had taken a scone and nibbled at it delicately. Lulled by the silence, and his appetite satisfied, James' thoughts took him away from Mr. House to those about the table. Sir William and Sir John were in attendance, as were another two gentlemen he did not know, and a lady—the Princess Alice, if he was not mistaken. He wondered briefly if introductions had been made before his arrival, or if none were to be given. It seemed odd, given their place for the moment, but not unlikely. He would simply have to remain ignorant, he supposed. So lost was he in his thoughts, that when one of the gentlemen he did not know cleared his throat to speak, he jumped perceptively. Perceptively to Mr. House, who had felt James' leg jerk in surprise beneath the table. He blushed slightly, his lips fought to quirk as he felt Mr. House's laughing eyes upon him without turning his head to see for himself. He desperately hoped his amusement did not show; he had already suffered enough discomfit for the present.

"Please tell us, Mr. House, how you came into the study of medicine?"

James listened, rapt, as Mr. House spoke freely of his tour in the Crimea, and the loss of his leg's utility. He regaled their group with stories that James himself had heard, and some he had not; all were well received amidst the serving of tea and scones and fruitcake. There had been a great deal of laughter and amusement when Mr. House had shared the tale of his first commanding officer's discomfit—a Lord Cardigan—that even brought a smile to the Queen's dour expression.

James spared a glance to Sir William, seated on his right. He caught James' eye and winked, once; which James acknowledged with a raised brow. He had been correct, of course; Mr. House was pleasant, amiable, and sociable. He was attentive without being intrusive, witty without being bullish. More than once, James had caught the Princess Alice studying him with the same attentiveness he could sense in the Queen herself. He wondered what sense they made of Mr. House's demeanor. He wondered if they could sense his brilliance, his warmth; his loneliness and despair as James often did. He wondered what they would discern in his employer that he did not.

As the shadows beyond the window deepened, the party came to an end. To a gentleman, they all rose and bowed respectfully when the Queen—and the Princess Alice rose to depart the table. There had been no further expression of gratitude, no further exchange of words regarding their presence; save for the last, as the Queen reached the door.

"Mr. Wilson?" she inquired as she turned; hands clasped before her. James bowed slightly, his eyes meeting hers nervously.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

"We trust you are aware of your employer's great skill?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Mr. House told us that you came into his employ after you had met on the train. He shared with us that you interested him in your demeanor, and the way you spoke boldly of your foray into medicine. 'Tis a rare man who will admit he needs assistance. 'Tis rarer still able to undertake the successful education and training of another. I pray you will be as fine a student as he is a teacher. Will you someday pass on what you have learned?"

"Yes, Your Majesty." He managed, breathlessly.

"See that you do." She commanded, and with the rustle of her somber black dress, she was gone. Breathing deeply to calm himself; James met Mr. House's intense look with a shy one of his own. No one spoke in the wake of the Queen's departure; but James supposed that words were not needed, then. Words would have been lost between them.

End part II


	16. Chapter 16

April 1888

Springtime brought out the city's smells.

All of them.

Nose wrinkled in disgust at his proximity to the out-of-doors, James waited vigilantly near the entrance on Whitechapel street. A brisk look 'round the lobby showed all to be in order; nurses in starched uniforms scurried to and fro, the front desk hummed faintly with the low murmur of voices and a blur of activity. James glanced longingly through the glass doors again, but in his mind's eye he saw not the dull grey sky nor the drizzle that had not ceased in well over a fortnight. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself to be seated beneath the great oak in the garden of the children's wing. In that lovely garden, the scents of woodsmoke and coal, human offal and manure would fade beneath the heavenly scent of honeysuckle and newly shorn grass. A brisk walk about the park would chase the stiffness from his legs and help to slow his racing thoughts. Such a pretty scene! He longed to lie beneath the shade of—no, no—he thought suddenly; and watched the garden dim in his mind. His employer was due presently, and he would undoubtedly look a fool if he stood in wait for his master while frolicking about a meadow in his daydreams.

Opening his eyes, he was relieved to find Mr. House was not standing before him with a smug smile, as he had half expected. It was just as well, he supposed. With such a wet, miserable spring had come a slew of mysterious and lingering illnesses and the difficult nature of such a certain case had charmed Mr. House to leave the warmth of his bed and entreated him to come to the hospital personally. James smiled at the memory of Mr. House's enthusiasm—and his vexation—at the prospect of a case difficult enough to warrant his presence. Smile fading, James sobered as he recalled his employer's difficulties of late. The pain had been nearly untenable these past months. The damp drove the chill into his bones, and his already ponderous gait had grown more and more disregular. His disposition had suffered as well, though James hesitated to attribute his mood strictly to the weather. In gratitude for his assistance, Mr. House had been offered a great chance to attend the Prince Leopold yearly now as he wintered in Cannes. Mr. House had gone shortly after the New Year and had returned home the third of March—James wistfully remembered the handsome glow to Mr. House's skin and the light in his eyes that had gradually faded as the cold and damp took their toll upon him.

A clatter arose in the street beyond, and James started to attention sharply as Mr. House's brougham came to a halt. Blurred by the rain and mist, James could scarcely see when Henry had stepped down from the box and come 'round to open the door. Taking a deep breath, James hastily moved to the steps and joined Henry in assisting—

"No, I am not so feeble as to require such assistance!" Mr. House cried, and to his consternation both James and Henry ignored his outburst as they helped him down the steps of the carriage and then to the walkway before the door. Mr. House brushed their hands away as he struggled to calm his breathing. His blue eyes flashed in the dim light from the gasl amps above, and he sighed loudly as he set himself to rights. His features had thinned; his appetite had waxed and waned with the pain and nothing Alice had tempted him with had passed muster. James offered his arm to Mr. House, but was not offended when his employer merely brushed past him and stormed into the lobby.

"Why have you come, Mr. House? I had prevailed upon Henry to remind you that the patient was doing well. There was no need for you to be in attendance on such a terrible day."

"And so I am content to leave the young lady in your capable, if lecherous hands." Mr. House leaned heavily upon his cane and limped steadily forward. Henry took his leave, having ascertained his master's intent long before their arrival. James dimly noted the brougham disappearing from the doorway before returning his attention to his master.

"May I ask why you have come?" James asked, as he fell into step a stride behind his mentor.

"I have been granted a rare audience with a patient of Mr. Treves."

"He is a surgeon, is he not?" James inquired pleasantly. "Has he asked you to consult on this patient?"

"Yes, he is. And, no. Tis' not a consult, as such. More a satisfaction of curiousity." Mr. House paused before the staircase, staring despondently up. "I suppose it should have been too much to ask that Sir William rush the completion of the addition of the elevator. For my sake, if not his own." he said with a gentle sigh.

"I believe construction continues apace, Mr. House." James asserted kindly. He offered his elbow, and after a moment's hesitation, Mr. House grasped his arm and together they tackled the stairs. James moved slowly, keeping his ascent up the stairs tailored to his employer's unusual tread. Unfortunately, after reaching the first floor landing Mr. House continued to climb—past the general ward and paediatrics, past the research wards and annexes—all the way to the attic without stopping. James felt his respect for his mentor rise another notch—surely Mr. House would not undertake such an arduous task for anyone less than a patient in need. Having recovered from the exertions of his climb, Mr. House turned and made his way down a relatively empty corridor. James remained near the stairwell for a moment, struggling with his own indecision before giving into his own curiousity and joined his mentor down the hall.

"May I inquire as to the nature of the consult?" James asked as he fell into step on Mr. House's left side. Long accustomed to his employer's unusual gait, James no longer paid much attention save for his instinctive move to the left.

"As I said, it is a matter of curiousity."

"In what regard?"

"What know you of a man named Joseph Merrick?" Mr. House asked cryptically as he paused to stare intensely at the numbers above the doors. James considered the question while Mr. House consulted a card within his hand before beginning forward again.

"I cannot recall anything of note, but I vaguely recall the name being in the papers a time or two. Have you come to see him?" James asked finally. Mr. House traversed the length of the corridor and paused before a door. He leaned upon his cane conversationally.

"Joseph Merrick," he began. "the son of Joseph and Mary Merrick. Born 5 August 1862. The eldest of three siblings; one of which died of scarlet fever and the other has significant physical disabilities. This unfortunate patient is afflicted with terrible malformations of his body. Unable to support himself, he was in and out of workhouses prior to agreeing to become a sideshow attraction. Of late, he has been a curiousity for the college of Royal Physicians who have examined him and not been able to agree upon a theory to explain his deformation."

"And you have been asked to examine the patient and ascertain a probable cause?" James asked patiently.

"No." Mr. House said tersely. "The man has been examined enough."

"Mr. House, I'm not certain-"

"Joseph Merrick is a man, James." Mr. House stamped his cane upon the floor-as though the very thought of a man he had never met being treated as an animal for viewing—caused him great vexation. "I have come to meet the man, not his condition." Mr. House continued, and James nodded.

"I apologize, Mr. House."

"I should also like to undertake his case, if he will permit it. But nonetheless, I should like to meet him. According to Mr. Treves, he is a sensitive and enlightened man. Remarkable, given his lack of schooling and his difficulty finding work." Mr. House made to open the door before him, and James turned to return to his offices on the third floor.

"James."

"Yes, Mr. House?"

"I should also like it if you would be so kind as to locate all of Mr. Treves' case notes he has made upon Mr. Merrick. Please to read them as you are able."

"To what end, Mr. House?" James asked in surprise.

"I think that should be obvious, dear James. I would not have the poor man feel as though he were merely an object of study while I am with him. But as you will not befriend him—you are free to undertake the case to my indulgence."


	17. Chapter 17

Joseph Merrick's residence was within the attic atop the Hospital. Here, away from the bustle of the sick wards the hospital was dim and silent; the walls a dull white with the worn paint flaking away. There was no sound from the wards, nor from behind the closed door just down the corridor. Mr. House tucked the card away in his pocket, and leaned heavily upon his cane. He moved stiffly; he was understandably sore given the wet weather and the rigorous climb up several flights of stairs. James watched, hands in his pockets as he lingered behind Mr. House unobtrusively. If pressed, he would have admitted his own curiousity from Mr. House's description of the man. When at last Mr. House paused before the door, he planted his feet; weight evenly distributed and used the head of his cane to rap on the door smartly. When no response seemed to come, he knocked again. This time, footsteps sounded, and after a long pause; the door was cautiously opened a small crack.

Given the dull lamplight in the hall, the room should have been brighter. He realized with chagrin that this room-atop-the-hospital likely had no window. James tried to see a shape within the room, but only darkness peered back.

"Mr. Merrick?" Mr. House asked quietly. "My name is Gregory House. I am a colleague of Mr. Treves. I should like to speak with you."

The figure behind the door shifted, and James could make out one misshapen claw holding the doorknob. The other hand was nearly skeletal, and rested on the frame.

"Are you a doctor?" Mr. Merrick asked indistinctly; his speech garbled and faint.

"I am a friend." Mr. House said solemnly.

James held his breath as the hand upon the door frame was removed shakily and the door inched open. Mr. House stood still, leaning heavily upon his cane. He lifted his chin slightly, as first one shuffled footstep, and then another; and James caught his breath involuntarily as a grotesquely misshapen man stood fully exposed within the doorway. Mr. Merrick was indeed aptly nicknamed the Elephant man. Folds of bilious skin were drawn over bundles of neurofibromas that covered the man from head to toe. Large cysts had formed and reformed over the poor man's face, head, arm and patches of hair lingered between growths sparsely; even his eyes were mere slits beneath folds of skin. He squinted to see them; lips quivering as he took in Mr. House leaning so heavily upon his cane, and James behind him. James tried to compose his expression to something neutral, but he found himself unable to mask the horror in his eyes. Poor Mr. Merrick met their gazes bravely, but looked away in shame after seeing James. He nodded hesitantly; curiousity alighting in his eyes as he glanced once more at Mr. House's cane.

"I should be glad of company for tea." He said softly, and he shuffled backwards to allow them entry. James started to follow, but found himself stopped by Mr. House's hand.

"Hadn't you patients to see to?" Mr. House asked coldly, and James felt ashamed. Mr. House was an extraordinarily observant man. He too had noticed James' pitying expression.

"I apologize, Mr. House. I—I should truly like the opportunity to meet Mr. Merrick, and to hear his story." He said quietly. He gave Mr. House a beseeching look, and his employer sighed heavily.

"You owe me no apology." Mr. House said softly. "I should be grateful if you were to join us. You are observant—if occasionally ignorant—" Here, James wisely held his tongue. "—and I would appreciate your insight during this interview."

Mr. Merrick's attic room was not terribly large, James noted as he stepped through the door. A cot piled with striped pillows was in one corner; opposite a small, chipped white bookcase half-filled with books. A square table was nearest the door; paired with three mismatched chairs and a lit lamp placed in the center. Upon the table was a simple tea tray that had seen better days, but was loaded with three chipped cups, a chipped tea pot and a plate of scones.

"Come in." Mr. Merrick called in a low voice, and James meekly followed Mr. House into the room and seated himself beside his employer. Mr. Merrick took the remaining chair, and for a long moment there was silence.

"Mr. Treves mentioned some guests would be coming by." Mr. Merrick said softly. "I must admit, I looked forward to having guests for tea." He admitted shyly. Mr. House smiled—actually smiled at the simple joy reflected in the other man's eyes.

"I am grateful you would have us in for tea." He rejoined. "I apologize for not introducing my friend—this is James Wilson. He is an apprentice of mine."

James inclined his head respectfully; making certain this time his expression only reflected his sincere gratitude. Mr. Merrick acknowledged him kindly, and reached out with his skeletal left hand to dole out the tea cups one by one. There were no saucers, but James tried to pay no mind as he watched Mr. Merrick struggle to steady the heavy pot as he poured. Judging by the look in Mr. House's eye, he would be wise to refrain from offering assistance. Once the tea was poured, and each had sweetened their cup to taste, it was Mr. Merrick who surprisingly began the conversation.

"May I ask the nature of your disability?" he asked bluntly. James blinked, and prepared himself for the inevitable explosion. If there was one thing Mr. House was disinclined to discuss; it was the nature of his disability. But, as had been the case with James himself, he chose to be rather frank in his answer. Perhaps he understood Mr. Merrick's natural curiousity. Perhaps, James decided at last; just perhaps, Mr. House wanted Mr. Merrick to have some part of himself in exchange.

"I was a lieutenant during the Battle of Balaclava. My regiment was among those that charged down into the valley. We had charged into many frays and always returned none the worse for wear. We charged into the valley, and I saw many of my comrades fall around me. I do not recall fearing for my life until I felt my horse struck beneath me; when we two began to fall. I remember that we struck the ground, and I was pinned beneath my horse's weight. While I set about freeing myself, a shell struck very near us. If not for my horse shielding me from the worst of the explosion, it is likely I should not have survived. When I woke next, it was on the operating table." Mr. House cautiously took a sip of his tea, and indicated the whole of his leg with one sweep of his hand. "'Twas the end of my career within the cavalry. I was not sorry to see it end."

James remained silent, sitting as still as a stone while Mr. House told his sorry tale once more. He stared into the depths of his cup as though he might divine the truth from the fragments of tea leaves within the syrupy remnants of his drink. But there was no truth to be found there; at least, not one he cared to seek. Setting the cup down delicately, he bravely looked up to find Mr. Merrick watching Mr. House with an earnest look in his kindly eyes.

"There were many years in my life where I wished to have been maimed by war." he said softly. "For then my affliction should not have been my fault."

Mr. House's blue eyes flashed angrily in response; but Mr. Merrick continued before Mr. House could object.

"But now I think it would have been an affront to God. I do not know why God so desired me to take this shape, but He heard my cries for mercy and has given me a home at last. I have a roof over my head, food for my hunger and friends to whom I may speak." He gave Mr. House and James a shy, winsome smile. "If I should have lived a whole, rich man I do not believe I could have asked God for more."

James felt his eyes well with emotion; he breathed deeply through his nose and struggled to maintain his composure. Chancing a glance at Mr. House, he found his employer made no such effort to restrain his feeling. Mr. House was watching their host intently; yet there were tear tracks upon his cheeks and his nose was suspiciously red.

"You are far wiser than I, Mr. Merrick." Mr. House said softly, and his voice was choked with emotion. "Far wiser than many a man I know. I envy your courage, and your good nature." Mr. House raised his cup in salute, and swallowed down the dregs of his tea.

Mr. Merrick might have blushed at such frank admiration, but it was difficult to be sure. In any case, James noted; the conversation between Mr. Merrick and his employer flowed far more easily. Their interview was brief when all was over; James tried with difficulty to follow along from one topic to another, but found himself unable to concentrate. Mr. House, for his part, asked no personal questions of Mr. Merrick—or at least, none of a nature James would have found informative. They discussed the opera Mr. Merrick had seen, and the beautiful ladies he had finally met; the card houses Mr. Merrick had built. But not one of Mr. House's questions pertained to the man's childhood, his malady, or his career upon the freak show circuit. Having wisely heeded his employer's lead, James listened intently, and made no show of emotion openly. He rose as Mr. Merrick and Mr. House did; shook the skeletal left hand warmly with his own. He stepped into the hall and took a place near the stairway while Mr. House bade his good-by. And at the last, when Mr. House joined him at the very top of the staircase, Mr. Merrick waved to them warmly before stealing shyly into his tiny room once more.

"He is truly a remarkable man." Mr. House said, favoring James with a rare smile. "Wonderful character for a man mistreated so by other men for naught but their pocketbooks."

"Yes, indeed." James agreed, and offered his arm to Mr. House, who took it absently. "I admit, he was not what I expected at all."

"'Tis your expectations you need to let go of." Mr. House said sagely, as he hung his cane upon his arm and took the rail in hand before taking the first step. "Men are often more than what they appear. Should you have judged me first upon my appearance, I daresay you would have done little more than sit beside me on the train that day."

"And had you judged me by my appearance, would you have taken me in?" James asked as they descended to the first landing.

"James, my boy, I did judge you by your first appearance."

"And yet you took me in?" James asked as they paused for Mr. House to regain his breath.

"You intrigued me." Mr. House said at the last, and James rolled his eyes.

"May I inquire how?" James asked in exasperation.

"You are the rare man who is in word and deed precisely what he appears to be."

"I am a curiousity for you?" James asked thoughtfully.

"Surely you would not expect me to while away my days with someone uninteresting?" Mr. House asked half in jest, and James smiled despite himself.

"Surely not, Mr. House. Surely not."


End file.
